m 


"I'll  go  nowhere  without  a  reason' 


PLUNDER 


By 

ARTHUR  SOMERS  ROCHE 

Author  of  LOOT,  etc. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

WILL  FOSTER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHTED  BY  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
UNDER  THE  TITLE  A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER 


COPYRIGHT  1917 
THE  BOBBS-MEKRILL  COMPANY 


PRI8B    OF 

BHAUNWOHTH    »    CO. 

BOOK    MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN.    N.    V. 


Sweetheart: 

You  laughed  because  I  wouldn't  change  her 
name,  because  I  insisted  on  calling  her  Kirby 
Rowland.  But  if  I  wanted  to  draw  you,  as  well 
as  my  poor  pen  might,  I  saw  no  reason  why  I 
should  not,  by  my  heroine's  name,  tell  my  read- 
ers that  you  were  her  model.  And  so  the  name 
was  kept,  the  name  so  like  your  own. 

But,  oh,  my  dear,  I  have  fallen  so  far  short. 
One  can  not,  after  all,  describe  the  heart.  And 
the  you  I  love  is  not  just  the  memory  of  your 
lovely  face,  your  brave  eyes,  your  merry  smile 
— it  is  the  heart  of  you,  the  soul  of  you,  that 
has  not  gone,  that  is  so  near  me  now. 


2132329 


PLUNDER 


PLUNDER 


MASTERMAN'S  eyes  gleamed  through  his 
heavy  glasses. 

"You've  heard  me,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "I 
have  given  you,  verbatim,  the  words  of  Schloss- 
felt,  the  words  of  MontfoucaulL  What's  the 
answer  ?" 

Blaisdell  and  Cardigan  looked  at  each  other. 
Multimillionaires,  wielders  of  titanic  power, 
they  shrank  in  the  presence  of  Masterman.  They 
controlled  a  country's  food  supply,  a  country's 
fuel  supply ;  but  Masterman  was  bigger  than  they 
— Masterman  controlled  transportation. 

Blaisdell  fumbled  with  his  collar. 

"It  looks  like  a  pretty  big  thing,"  he  said  nerv- 
ously. "Too  big!  I'm  pretty  well  satisfied  with 
things  as  they  are.  The  United  States  are  big 
enough  for  me.  I  don't  know  enough  about  con- 
ditions abroad " 

I 


2  PLUNDER 

"You  don't  have  to,"  snapped  Masterman. 
"Let  Schlossf elt  and  Montfoucault  attend  to  that ! 
You,  Cardigan?" 

Cardigan  was  less  of  a  coward  than  Blaisdell. 
The  latter  had  inherited  his  wealth — at  least,  the 
foundation  of  it.  But  Cardigan  had  begun  life 
as  a  laborer,  and  had  not  entirely  lost  the  burly 
courage  that  had  made  him  master  of  coal.  But 
even  Cardigan  hesitated. 

"There'll  be  the  devil's  own  row,  Masterman. 
Have  you  discounted  that?" 

Masterman's  smile  was  contemptuous. 

"Row?  Of  course  there  will.  But  what  we 
do  we  do  with  the  sanction  of  the  law.  And  does 
a  man  gain  a  whole  world  without  risk?  Have 
you  run  no  risks  in  your  lives?  Faugh!  I've 
said  enough.  Shall  I  give  Schlossfelt  and  Mont- 
foucault the  word  to  go  ahead,  that  we  are  with 
them?" 

He  was  not  eloquent;  yet  no  actor,  no  orator, 
could  have  spoken  more  intently,  with  greater 
suggestion  of  power,  of  force  held  in  leash.  It 
was  as  though,  having  summed  up,  he  left  the 
choice  with  them,  and  yet,  despite  his  calm,  both 


PLUNDER  3 

men  knew  that  they  would  do  as  he  bade  them, 
not  because  he  would  compel  them,  but  because 
greed  and  the  logic  of  his  position  impelled  them. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  the  subject  at  issue 
had  been  discussed.  Many  times  before  had  Mas- 
terman  laid  the  whole  project  before  the  two  men 
whom  he  would  have  as  his  allies.  But,  now, 
with  Schlossfelt  and  Montfoucault  with  him,  with 
the  two  greatest  bankers  in  the  country  allied 
with  the  masters  of  transportation,  of  fuel  and 
of  food 

"I  want  you  with  me  whole-heartedly  or  not  at 
all,"  said  Masterman.  "What  is  the  answer?" 

"Give  them  the  word,"  said  Blaisdell. 

Yet  as  he  spoke  he  cast  a  furtive  glance  out  the 
window,  down  upon  the  hurrying  throngs  on 
Broad  Street,  as  though  fear  dwelt  among  those 
busy  pedestrians,  fear  for  Blaisdell,  not  fear  of 
him. 

"I'm  in,"  said  Cardigan. 

Masterman  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  as 
though  he  would  read  their  hearts.  Indeed,  he 
did  read  their  hearts;  read  the  crookedness  and 
treachery  that  the  pious  exterior  of  Blaisdell  and 


4  PLUNDER 

the  bluff  and  burly  front  of  Cardigan  tried  to 
conceal.  He  smiled,  thin-lipped. 

"One  moment,  gentlemen." 

He  rose  from  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  table 
andl  walked  to  a  typewriter  by  the  window,  and 
sitting  down  before  it  slid  in  a  sheet  of  paper. 
There  had  been  many  occasions  in  the  past  when 
it  had  been  dangerous  to  entrust  certain  writings 
to  the  knowledge  of  even  the  most  trustworthy 
secretary.  Masterman  picked  out  the  letters  with 
a  quite  remarkable  celerity.  He  wrote  ten  min- 
utes, whipped  the  paper  out  of  the  machine, 
walked  to  the  table,  with  a  fountain  pen  signed 
his  name  at  the  foot  of  the  sheet,  and  shoved  the 
writing  over  to  Blaisdell.  Blaisdell  read ;  his  jaw 
dropped. 

"Why — this  is  madness,  Masterman!  You 
don't  expect  us  to  sign  such  a  thing  as  this !" 

"I've  signed  it,"  said  Masterman  coldly. 

Cardigan  arose  and  peered  over  Blaisdell's 
shoulder.  He,  too,  read  the  writing.  He,  too, 
protested. 

"But,  look  here,  Masterman,  you  said  that  what 
we  did  we  did  with  the  sanction  of  the  law.  But 


PLUNDER  5 

there  are  a  dozen  laws  against  this  thing!  It 
would  mean  jail.  Jail?  There  isn't  a  jail  in  the 
country  strong  enough  to  hold  the  signers  of  that 
paper  from  the  clutches  of  the  mob  if  ever  they 
should  find  out.  This  isn't  within  the  law." 

"You  mean  our  contemplated  action  or  the 
signing  of  that  paper?"  queried  Masterman, 
smiling. 

"The  action  is  all  right,  because  collusion  and 
agreement  can  never  be  proved,"  replied  Cardigan. 
"Each  event  will  apparently  be  independent  of 
any  other,  and  due  solely  to  economic  conditions, 
to  the  weather — to  anything  to  which  we  choose 
to  ascribe  each  single  happening.  But  this  thing 
lumps  them  all  together!  This  is  proof  conclu- 
sive— why,  this  is  putting  our  necks  into  the 
noose!  Why  should  we  sign  it?" 

"Yes,  why?"  demanded  Blaisdell. 

"Montfoucault,  Schlossfelt  and  their  associates 
can  not  win  alone,"  replied  Masterman.  "They 
must  have  assurance  that  we  are  with  them.  This 
paper  is  assurance." 

"But  you  don't  intend  to  give  them  that  paper," 
cried  Blaisdell,  aghast. 


6  PLUNDER 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Master-man,  still  cool.  "I 
intend  to  keep  it  myself." 

"Then  if  they'll  accept  your  verbal  assurance 
that  we're  with  them,  why  this  paper?" 

Masterman  smiled  still;  but  it  was  a  smile  be- 
neath which  the  questioning  eyes  of  Blaisdell 
wavered,  and  the  florid  face  of  Cardigan  became 
a  shade  redder. 

"Why?  Well,  gentlemen,  between  equals  the 
word  of  Martin  Masterman  has  never  been 
doubted,  because  it  has  never  been  broken. 
Schlossfelt  and  the  others  will  accept  my  word 
where,  if  I  must  be  plain,  they  would  not  accept 
your  bonds.  My  word  is  good;  they  will  go 
ahead  and  risk  millions  on  my  word.  But  I,  gen- 
tlemen, will  not  risk  millions,  or  thousands  even, 
on  your  words!  I  want  your  signatures  to  that 
paper,  and  then — if  you  try  to  welch,  if  you  try 
to  draw  back,  I'll  go  down  to  ruin  myself,  but 
you'll  go  with  me!  Am  I  dear?" 

"You're  insulting!"  said  Blaisdell,  with  an 
effort  at  dignity. 

But  Cardigan  laughed;  Cardigan  had  no  thin 
skin. 


PLUNDER  7 

"Forget  it,  Blaisdell,"  he  jeered.  "When 
money  is  the  prize — well,  any  man  can  talk  as  he 
likes  to  me  if  he  pays  the  price!  Masterman  is 
paying  the  price.  It  means — we  know  what  it 
means.  If  Masterman  doesn't  care  to  accept  our 
words — well,  I  wouldn't  take  the  word  of  more 
than  one  man  in  a  matter  like  this.  His  name  is 
Martin  Masterman.  You  see,  Blaisdell,  you  and 
I  decided  to  become  tremendously  rich  by  any 
means  at  hand.  So  did  Masterman — with  the  one 
exception  that  he  wrould  not  betray  a  business  as- 
sociate— until  the  association  was  ended.  He's 
kept  to  that.  We  both  know  that  his  word  is 
good  to  us  while  he's  doing  business  with  us.  But 
yours  and  mine — well,  Blaisdell,  I'm  willing  to 
admit  that  when  a  matter  of  millions  is  involved 
I  think  of  myself  all  the  time.  So  do  you,  only 
you  won't  admit  it  even  to  yourself.  Here,  give 
me  the  paper — I'll  sign!" 

He  wrote  his  name  beneath  that  of  Masterman, 
in  the  huge  scrawl  that  was  all  his  clumsy  fingers, 
still  stiffened  by  that  youthful  toil  as  a  laborer, 
tould  accomplish.  He  eyed  his  signature  with 
satisfaction ;  he  had  not  been  able  to  read  or  write 


8  PLUNDER 

until  his  twenty-sixth  year,  and  had  not  yet  lost 
his  pride  in  the  art.  He  pushed  the  paper  toward 
Blaisdell,  who  still  hesitated. 

"Masterman,  you're  going  to  keep  this  thing 
guarded  like " 

"All  our  plans  would  be  irrevocably  wrecked 
if  that  paper  were  discovered,"  replied  Master- 
man. "Indeed,  we'd  be  torn  limb  from  limb. 
But  I  would  rather  be  torn  limb  from  limb  than 
have  my  fortune  wrested  from  me.  And  you  and 
Cardigan  by  treachery  could  wrest  it  from  me. 
This  paper  is  a  guarantee  against  your  treach- 
ery. Should  you  and  Cardigan  break  faith  with 
me,  I  shall  show  this  paper  to  the  world,  knowing 
that  my  downfall  is  yours.  But  while  you  work 
with  me  this  paper  will  be  as  secure  as  man  can 
make  anything.  It  will  be  in  the  vaults  down- 
stairs. I  will  take  it  there  myself  immediately 
you  have  signed  it." 

With  this  assurance  Blaisdell  seemed  content, 
as  well  he  might  have  been,  for  the  vaults  in  the 
basement  of  the  Masterman  Building  were  the 
last  word  in  burglar,  fire  and  earthquake  protec- 
tion. The  document  would  be  safe  there.  Blais- 


PLUNDER  9 

dell  signed,  his  very  small  chirography  seeming 
indicative  of  character  as  against  the  huge  scrawl 
of  Cardigan,  which  seemed  to  express  the  pirati- 
cal nature  of  the  coal  lord.  For  Cardigan  was  a 
modern  pirate,  while  Blaisdell  was  a  Machiavelli, 
who  worked  in  the  dark,  and  did  not  disdain 
smallness  in  attaining  his  ends.  Both  were  Lilli- 
putians beside  Martin  Masterman. 

The  Lord  of  the  Granary  and  the  Market 
pushed  the  paper  toward  Masterman,  and  he  who 
was  Transportation,  again  showing  his  thin-lipped 
smile,  reached  for  it.  A  knock  on  the  door  made 
his  hand  pause,  hovering  over  the  paper. 

"Well?"  he  called  angrily.  It  was  a  rule,  here- 
tofore inviolate,  that  no  one  should  approach  this 
private  office,  when  Masterman  was  in  confer- 
ence, unless  he  had  rung  his  bell.  The  voice  of 
the  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  showed 
that  he  was  fearful  of  the  reception  that  would 
be  accorded  the  breaking  of  the  rule.  It  quavered. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Masterman,  but  you  said 
that  no  matter  where  you  were,  if  a  wire  should 
come  from  Mr.  Schlossfelt  to  bring  it  to  you  at 
once." 


io  PLUNDER 

Masterman's  frown  vanished  as  swiftly  as  it 
had  come.  He  walked  to  the  door  and  unlocked 
it.  A  hand  appeared,  holding  a  yellow  paper. 
The  master  of  transportation  seized  it  and  read 
the  message. 

"Reply  'All  settled;  will  write  details.'  Sign 
my  name."  He  closed  the  door  and  turned  to 
his  companions.  "Schlossfelt  is  in  a  hurry,"  he 
said  exultingly.  "In  three  months  or  less  we'll 
have  the  people  of  this  country " 

He  stopped  short  and  stared.  Cardigan  was 
standing  on  the  table,  clawing  madly  at  a  sheet 
of  paper  that  floated  upward.  Blaisdell,  white  of 
face,  was  watching  him  helplessly.  For  the  clos- 
ing of  the1  door  had  caused  a  puff  of  wind  which 
had  lifted  the  signed  agreement  from  the  polished 
surface  of  the  table! 

Masterman  stood  still  only  a  fraction  of  a  sec- 
ond. Then:  "You  can't  reach  it!  Close  the 
window " 

He  acted  upon  his  own  word.  He  sprang  to 
the  window,  open  at  top  and  bottom.  He  brought 
down  the  lower  half  with  a  crash  that  shook  the 
room.  He  pushed  upward  at  the  other  half;  but 


PLUNDER  II 

it  needed  a  long  pole  to  push  that  closed,  and 
the  long  pole  stood  six  feet  away.  Before  Mas- 
terman  could  grab  it  and  return,  the  paper,  on 
the  vagrant  current  of  air  that  had  been  set  in 
motion  by  the  closing  door,  floated  through  the 
opened  top  and  out  of  the  room! 

Cardigan,  who  had  faced  two  thousand  strik- 
ing, murder-bent  miners  and  cursed  them  into 
silence,  and  Blaisdell,  whose  nimble  wit  had  come 
to  the  aid  of  the  highest-priced  lawyers  when  these 
had  been  stumped,  stared  gaping.  It  was  Mas- 
terman  who  acted,  who  proved  why  he  was 
greater  than  these. 

"Watch  it,"  he  ordered,  "where  it  falls! 
Watch!" 

He  leaped  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  To  some 
one  in  the  outer  room  he  called : 

"Paper — out  my  window — in  the  street — ten 
thousand  to  the  man  that  brings  it  back  if  no  one 
has  had  a  chance  to  read  it.  Quick — into  the 
street — I'll  point  from  the  window!" 

He  was  back  in  the  room  and  at  the  window, 
elbowing  the  slight  Blaisdell  and  the  burly  Car* 
digan  aside,  that  he  might  have  the  better  view. 


12  PLUNDER 

Together  they  stared,  while  the  flimsy  sheet,  wind- 
borne,  rose  and  fell.  It  swooped  suddenly  down ; 
then  an  upward  draft  caught  it ;  it  rose  a  hundred 
feet;  it  passed  over  a  low  roof.  Masterman 
rushed  from  the  room;  he  dashed  through  a 
couple  of  offices  and  came  to  a  window  that 
looked  out  upon  a  side  street.  Behind  him  came 
the  other  two,  while  amazed  clerks  that  dared  not 
show  their  amazement  lifted  eyebrows  and  shoul- 
ders. 

It  was  Blaisdell  who  saw  the  paper  first. 
"There!"  he  cried. 

The  others  looked  and  saw  it.  It  was  dropping 
now  limply,  no  current  of  air  sustaining  it.  Mas- 
terman turned  to  the  others. 

"Stay  here,"  he  gasped.  "Watch !  The  clerks 
— the  other  street " 

He  was  out  of  the  office,  and  hatless,  flushed, 
a  sight  to  cause  the  market  to  drop  fifty  points, 
was  rushing  down  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the  side 
street  where  his  reward-desirous  clerks  were  not 
waiting.  Behind,  Cardigan  and  Blaisdell  strained 
their  eyes,  watching  the  paper  that  meant  more 
than  fame  or  fortune,  that  meant  life  itself,  should 


PLUNDER  13 

it  fall  into  strange  hands.  And  then  a  breeze 
swept  up  the  side  street.  While  Masterman  was 
yet  on  the  stairs  they  saw  the  paper  swoop  up- 
ward, then  slant  downward  and  drop  before  a 
man  far  up  the  street.  They  saw  the  man  bend 
over  and  pick  it  up.  Fear  clutching  at  their  hearts, 
they  saw  him  read.  Cardigan  imagined  he  saw 
a  smile  of  vicious  exultation  on  the  man's  face; 
Blaisdell  thought  he  could  see  the  lips  set  in  a 
grim  threat.  Then  Masterman  appeared  on  the 
sidewalk  below.  He  looked  up  at  them;  they 
pointed  frantically  up  the  street.  He  did  not 
understand.  Cardigan  started  from  the  office; 
Blaisdell  followed.  They  dashed  into  the  hall 
and,  like  Masterman  a  few  seconds  before,  raced 
down  the  stairs.  A  dozen  clerks  looked  after 
them.  One  spoke. 

"I  hope  they  don't  trip  on  the  stairs,"  he  said. 
"My  lip's  cracked." 

And  the  innocent  joy  with  which  this  hackneyed 
humor  was  received  was  proof  that  social  unrest 
was  growing.  When  clerks  dare  gibe  at  their 
divinely  appointed  masters  the  world  is  in  a  sad 
state. 


II 


SIR  FITZ-ROY  EUSTACE  CLAVERING 
BRAY,  born  Peter  Whittier,  and  known 
internationally  to  the  police  and  the  top  planes  of 
the  underworld  as  "Handsome  Harry"  Mack,  was 
as  quick-witted  a  denizen  of  the  world  of  crime 
as  had  ever  outwitted  the  detective  bureaus  of  a 
score  of  cities.  He  was  no  dealer  in  petty  lar- 
ceny; anything  less  than  ten  thousand  dollars 
looked  like  chicken  feed  to  Handsome  Harry. 
And  there  was  no  sum  which  his  imagination  had 
set  as  the  limit  in  hauls.  He  knew  that  the  famous 
Adam  Worth  had  dealt  in  the  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands; it  was  Handsome  Harry's  ambition  to 
make  Worth  look  like  a  piker.  Handsome  Harry 
had  always  believed  that  some  day  he  would  deal 
in  millions.  Meanwhile,  until  that  day  of  millions 
came  along1,  he  would  continue  to  deal  in  tens  and 
scores  of  thousands.  He  had  done  so,  with  such 
remarkable  success  that  he  had  never  graced  a 


PLUNDER  15 

jail  for  more  than  eight  days  on  a  stretch,  lack 
of  conclusive  evidence  causing  his  speedy  release 
always.  For  Handsome  Harry  always  chose  his 
victims  from  that  class  which,  given  time  to  cool 
down,  decides  that  it  is  better  to  put  up  with  the 
loss  of  a  lot  of  money  than  to  admit  to  the  world 
how  easily  it  may  be  swindled.  In  other  words, 
Handsome  Harry  chose  to  mulct  those  who  were 
conceited  snobs  as  well  as  millionaires.  And  they 
always  failed  to  appear  against  him  in  court. 

Technically  speaking,  he  had  no  criminal  rec- 
ord, inasmuch  as  no  conviction  had  ever  been 
found  against  him;  but  in  New  York,  Paris  and 
London  his  dossier  was  on  police  file,  and  plain- 
clothes  men  often  called  him  aside  from  little 
gatherings  in  hotel  bars  or  dining-rooms  and 
hinted  to  him  that  if  he  didn't  return  to  his  friends 
the  plain-clothes  men  would  be  glad  to  make  his 
apologies  for  him.  He  was  catalogued  as  a  sus- 
picious character,  and  the  police  tried  to  keep  in- 
formed of  his  whereabouts.  And  there  is  inter- 
national courtesy  between  police  departments. 
Twelve  days  ago  Scotland  Yard  had  cabled  New 
York  that  Handsome  Harry  Mack,  under  the  nom 


1 6  PLUNDER 

de  guerre  of  Archibald  Grantham,  was  aboard 
a  certain  liner.  Detectives  had  met  the  ship  at 
quarantine.  They  had  congratulated  Mr.  Gran- 
tham on  having1  won  approximately  twelve  thou- 
sand dollars  at  poker  on  the  short  voyage,  an 
incident  that  had  come  to  their  attention  as  soon 
as  they  boarded  the  ship,  and  told  him  that  such 
a  lucky  man  was  not  desired  in  the  United  States 
— he  might  amass  all  the  wealth  in  the  country. 

He  was  advised  to  take  the  first  ship  back  to 
London,  whereupon  Handsome  Harry  had  smil- 
ingly proved  to  their  satisfaction  that  he  was  an 
American  citizen,  and  had  been  reluctantly  per- 
mitted to  land.  But  within  twelve  hours  he  was 
taken  to  police  headquarters  and  assured  that  it 
was  the  earnest  intention  of  the  department  to 
make  the  town  too  hot  to  hold  him,  and  asked 
if  some  other  city  wouldn't  be  as  welcome  a  resi- 
dence for  him.  He  took  the  hint.  He  boarded 
a  train  for  Chicago,  and  a  plain-clothes  man  saw 
him  off. 

He  went  to  Chicago,  but  stayed  there  only  until 
a  train  left  for  Montreal.  In  the  Canadian  city 
he  f uir.ed  and  fretted  for  a  week,  cursing  the  luck 


PLUNDER  17 

that  had  drawn  him  into  a  poker  game,  thus 
advertising  the  name  of  Archibald  Grantham,  for 
under  that  name  he  had  intended  to  trim  certain 
New  York  bucket-shops  with  a  new  and  highly 
involved  scheme  of  swindling  that  had  stood  the 
acid  test  in  Berlin,  Madrid  and  Paris.  He  had 
brought  letters  of  introduction — forged  by  a 
chirographic  friend — and  now  they  were  useless, 
for  Handsome  Harry  was  clumsy  with  a  pen,  and 
knew  not  how  to  imitate  another's  handwriting. 
Of  course  the  name  of  Grantham  was  worse  than 
useless  now. 

So  in  Montreal  he  cursed  his  luck.  Then  that 
luck  was  good  to  him.  He  became  acquainted  in 
the  hotel  bar  with  an  English  gentleman,  who,  in 
one  hour  was  due  to  take  a  train  and  travel,  for 
a  bit  of  hunting,  into  the  Canadian  Northwest, 
to  be  gone  some  four  months.  They  drank  to- 
gether, Handsome  Harry  making  the  English- 
man's last  hour  one  of  joyous  memory.  Before 
parting  they  exchanged  cards,  and  Handsome 
Harry  Mack  also  managed  to  abstract  from  the 
Englishman's  pocket  a  letter  introducing  the 
seeker  of  sport  to  a  New  York  bank.  Evidently 


i8  PLUNDER 

the  Englishman  purposed  visiting  New  York  be- 
fore his  return  home. 

Handsome  Harry  saw  the  Englishman  aboard 
his  train.  A  little  later  he,  too,  took  a  train — for 
New  York.  He  presented  the  stolen  letter  of 
introduction  to  the  bank,  and  deposited  therein 
English  gold  and  paper  to  the  value  of  fifteen 
thousand  dollars.  He  then  registered  at  an  up- 
town hotel  under  the  name  of  the  sporting  Eng- 
lishman— Sir  Fitz-Roy  Eustace  Clavering  Bray. 

Everything  had  worked  out  well.  It  was  im- 
perative that  he  pose  as  a  man  of  means  and 
position  for  the  furtherance  of  his  scheme  against 
the  bucket-shops.  The  identity  of  Archibald 
Grantham  had  been  rudely  torn  from  him;  but 
that  of  Sir  Fitz-Roy  was  for  the  time  being  his—- 
unless the  police  happened  to  see  him.  This,  how- 
ever, was  a  risk  he  must  take,  a  risk  worth  taking, 
too,  for  the  part  of  Sir  Fitz-Roy,  vouched  for  as 
it  would  be  by  the  bank  to  which  he  had  presented 
the  letter  and  where  he  had  made  the  good-sized 
deposit,  was  capable  of  greater  results  even  than 
that  of  the  carefully  prepared  part  of  Grantham 
which  carelessness  had  lost  to  him. 


PLUNDER  19 

For  a  week  he  had  managed  to  avoid  recogni- 
tion by  any  detectives.  One  week  longer,  and  he 
wouldn't  care  if  he  were  recognized,  for  he  would 
have  concluded  the  trimming,  already  well  on  its 
way,  of  the  bucket-shop  near  Broad  Street  which 
he  had  chosen  as  his  victim,  and  would  have  done 
so  in  a  way  so  entirely  within  the  law,  that  re- 
covery, even  by  civil  suit,  of  the  money  he'd  have 
won,  would  be  a  hazy  thing,  and  one  not  attempt- 
ed by  any  bucket-shop,  undesirous  of  certain  kinds 
of  advertising  as  these  places  were. 

So  "Sir  Fitz-Roy,"  swinging  round  the  corner 
from  Broadway  into  the  side  street  that  ran  down 
to  Broad,  was  in  an  extremely  happy  frame  of 
mind.  The  police  didn't  dream  that  he  was  back 
in  New  York  again ;  it  was  great  sport  posing  as 
an  English  baronet.  Cards  had  been  left  at  his 
hotel  by  many  persons  prominent  in  New  York 
society;  and  he  told  himself  that  with  his  address 
and  apparent  position  and  wealth  he  might  even 
make  the  acquaintance  of  some  heiress  and  marry 
her  before  his  real  identity  was  suspected.  Pleas- 
ant vistas  opened  before  him,  but  he  turned  his 
eyes  from  them.  They  were  uncertainties;  the 


20  PLUNDER 

bucket-shop  trick  almost  a  reality.  Yet  it  did  no 
harm  to  dream,  and  he  was  dreaming  when  a 
paper  dropped  on  the  pavement  before  him. 

Half -unconsciously  he  stooped  and  picked  it 
up;  but  he  was  wholly  alert  one-tenth  of  a  second 
later,  for  the  first  words  he  read  were  the  names, 
freshly  inked,  of  Masterman,  Cardigan  and  Blais- 
dell.  He  had  seen  facsimiles  of  the  signatures  of 
all  three,  and  knew  them  as  he  would  have  known 
their  owners'  much-published  faces.  Two  seconds 
more  and  he  had  read  the  typewritten  lines  above 
the  signatures.  He  saw  at  once  the  tremendous 
value  of  his  possession.  His  time  had  come!  He 
had  always  known  that  it  would  come,  and  now 
that  it  was  here  he  was  not  taken  off  his  feet.  A 
lesser  man  would  have  been  dazed ;  but  Handsome 
Harry  Mack  only  saw  in  this  paper  his  big  oppor- 
tunity. Adam  Worth  was  to  be  made  to  look  like 
a  piker  at  last! 

He  folded  the  paper  swiftly  and  thrust  it  into 
a  pocket.  No  doubt  of  its  genuineness  assailed 
his  confidence.  How  it  had  happened  to  drop 
before  him,  how  its  signers  had  let  it  get  from 
their  possession,  these  were  matters  of  unimpor- 


PLUNDER  21 

tance,  questions  whose  answers  could  wait.  The 
important  thing  was  to  make  his  get-away  until 
he  had  time  to  plan.  For  it  was  inconceivable 
that  the  loss  of  this  paper  could  remain  unnoticed 
for  more  than  a  few  moments,  or  that  an  imme- 
diate search  would  not  be  made  for  it.  He  turned 
on  his  heel  toward  Broadway,  to  stare  into  the 
eyes,  a  score  of  yards  away,  of  Detective  Con- 
nors, who  had  been  among  those  headquarters' 
gentlemen  who  had  greeted  him  on  his  arrival  in 
America.  Connors'  eyes  lighted  with  surprised 
recognition.  He  took  a  step  toward  the  interna- 
tional crook. 

The  mind  of  Handsome  Harry  was  lightning 
quick.  Connors  would  place  him  under  arrest  as 
a  suspicious  character.  As  a  matter  of  form  he 
would  be  searched  at  headquarters.  And  this 
paper,  of  incalculable  value,  would  be  turned  over 
to  the  dull-witted  police.  He  did  not  know  or 
care  what  the  police  would  do  with  it.  Enough 
for  him  that  the  golden  path  of  fortune  would  be 
closed  if  the  paper  were  read  by  them — it  must 
not  be  found  on  him! 

As  Detective  Connors  stepped  forward  Hand- 


22  PLUNDER 

some  Harry  turned.  It  would  do  no  good  to  run ; 
in  the  crowded  Wall  Street  district  he'd  be  lucky 
to  go  a  hundred  yards  without  capture.  But  the 
bucket-shop  which  he  had  been  honoring  with  his 
patronage  was  only  two  doors  away.  With  De- 
tective Connors  fifteen  yards  back  and  coming 
strong,  Handsome  Harry  entered  the  office  of 
Bryant,  Manners  &  Company.  He  glanced  over 
his  shoulder;  Connors  was  approaching  at  rather 
better  .than  a  fast  walk. 

Bryant,  Manners  &  Company  had  a  safe  for 
the  convenience  of  their  customers,  but  there  was 
no  time  to  avail  himself  of  that  repository.  Con- 
nors was  right  behind  him.  Undoubtedly  a  hun- 
dred-dollar bill  passed  to  a  clerk  would  make  one 
of  those  underpaid  worthies  keep  the  paper  for 
him.  But  he  could  not  risk  the  clerk  reading  it, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  place  it  in  an  envelope. 
All  these  considerations  had  passed  through 
Handsome  Harry's  brain  in  the  few  seconds  that 
elapsed  between  his  recognition  of  Connors  and 
his  entrance  into  the  bucket-shop.  And  his  plan, 
risky  and  reckless,  yet  the  only  plan,  was  formed 
before  he  crossed  the  threshold. 


PLUNDER  23 

Bryant,  Manners  &  Company  was  a  fifth-rate 
concern.  It  did  business  on  a  one-point  margin, 
and  though  prosperous  enough  to  be  worthy 
Handsome  Harry's  swindling  efforts,  its  large 
volume  of  business  was  transacted  with  clerks, 
office  boys,  cheap  scalpers  and  other  speculators 
of  low  degree.  There  were  no  rich  furnishings, 
no  breath-taking  surroundings  of  wealth.  Such 
things  are  all  very  well,  reasoned  Bryant,  Man- 
ners &  Company,  but  they  awed  their  class  of 
clientele.  The  outer  office  of  the  bucket-shop 
resembled  nothing  so  much  as  the  outer  office  of 
a  prosperous  police-court  shyster,  save  that  the 
bucket-shop  was  larger. 

Customers  shed  their  coats  in  the  warm  weather 
and  hung  them  upon  nails  on  the  wall.  Cheap 
cuspidors  ornamented  the  corners.  Messenger 
boys  smoked  cigarettes  and  exchanged  badinage 
or  brag  with  the  office  boys.  Clerks  made  a  point 
of  learning  a  customer's  first  name  and  hailing 
him  familiarly.  Handsome  Harry,  who  promised 
to  be  a  comparatively  heavy  trader,  who  seemed 
to  have  strolled  into  the  office  by  accident,  and 
who,  because  his  presence  lent  prestige  to  the 


24  PLUNDER 

place,  was  accorded  a  courtesy  rare  in  these  brisk 
surroundings,  knew  the  office  far  better  than  he 
knew  his  hotel  bedroom.  He  knew  which  row 
of  nails  was  for  the  use  of  customers;  on  which 
hung  the  coats  of  the  employees.  He  had  that 
observance  for  details  that  would  have  made  him 
successful  as  a  detective  or  a  reporter.  Your 
first-class  crook  always  has. 

He  stepped  swiftly  toward  the  hat-and-coat- 
hung  nails.  He  lifted  his  own  hat  from  his  head 
and  placed  it  upon  the  last  nail  on  the  wall  de- 
voted to  customers.  He  stood  in  the  corner 
formed  by  two  sides  of  the  room.  At  his  left  was 
the  row  of  clerkly  garments.  Swift  as  a  prestidig- 
itator, he  whipped  the  folded  paper  from  his 
pocket.  Unobserved,  he  slipped  it  into  the  outer 
pocket  of  the  last  coat  hanging  in  the  row  devoted 
to  employees'  garments.  It  was  a  desperate  thing 
to  do,  but  not  for  nothing  had  Handsome  Harry 
frequented  this  bucket-shop  in  the  last  few  days. 
He  had  used  his  eyes;  he  knew  that  this  coat 
belonged  to  one  of  the  bookkeepers,  a  young 
fellow  named  Grant.  His  observing  eye  was 
backed  up  by  a  photographic  and  retentive  mem- 


PLUNDER  25 

ory.  He  knew  that  Grant,  at  precisely  twelve- 
thirty,  would  pass  swiftly  from  his  ledgers  behind 
a  grated  barrier,  would  jam  his  hat  on  his  head 
and  wriggle  into  his  coat  and  make  for  the  door. 
Handsome  Harry  had  seen  the  young  man  do  this 
on  four  successive  days,  and  he  recalled  that  not 
once  in  the  four  days  had  Grant  examined  his 
pockets — at  least,  not  while  in  the  office.  Of 
course  there  was  the  chance  that  when  he  got  out- 
side the  young  man  would  put  his  hands  inside 
them,  but  again  there  was  the  chance  that  he 
wouldn't.  And  there  was  absolutely  no  chance 
that  Handsome  Harry  could  escape  search  at 
headquarters.  The  risk  was  great,  but  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do.  If  luck  were  with  Handsome 
Harry  he  would  get  the  paper  back;  if  luck  were 
against  him — but  the  fate  that  had  placed  fortune 
within  his  grasp  would  not  snatch  it  away.  Hand- 
some Harry,  like  every  other  criminal,  was  super- 
stitious. Fate  had  always  had  great  things  in 
store  for  him ;  Fate  would  not  snatch  them  away. 
He  hung  up  his  hat  and  turned  round  to  face  (the 
door.  Connors  entered. 

The  detective  didn't    waste    a    moment.     He 


26  PLUNDER 

crossed  the  room  and  spoke  to  the  international 
crook. 

"Back  in  town  again,  eh?  Better  come  along 
with  me." 

"Why?"  demanded  Harry.  "I'm  doing  noth- 
ing." 

Connors  grinned. 

"That's  what  they  all  say,  always.  Get  your 
hat." 

Handsome  Harry  shrugged  his  well-squared 
shoulders. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said,  reaching  for  his  hat. 

Connors  linked  arms  with  him.  It  happened 
that  the  plain-clothes  man  played  the  market  on 
occasion.  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company  was  the 
firm  that  accepted  his  margins.  He  was  grateful 
to  Handsome  Harry  for  coming  along  without 
protest.  It  does  no  business  any  good  to  have  a 
violent  arrest  perpetrated  within  its  precincts,  and 
Connors  would  not  willingly  injure  the  bucket- 
shop,  which  accorded  him  favors  because  of  his 
connection  with  the  police. 

"We'll  just  duck  out  quiet,"  said  the  detective. 
"Later  I'll  come  back  and  see  these  people,  and 


PLUNDER  27 

if  you've  been  putting  up  a  game  on  them — well, 
we'll  see." 

It  happened  that  there  was  a  little  flurry  on 
that  morning  in  Amalgamated  Tin;  only  unim- 
portant clerks,  and  these  busy  with  books,  were  in 
the  outer  office.  They  paid  no  attention  to  the  de- 
parture of  detective  and  crook.  Captor  and  cap- 
tured reached  the  street  and  turned  toward 
Broadway.  Handsome  Harry  was  too  self-con- 
tained to  protest,  although,  had  it  been  feasible, 
he  would  have  killed  Connors  with  as  little  com- 
punction as  he'd  have  trimmed  a  sucker.  White- 
hot  murder  was  in  his  brain  and  heart.  A  moment 
ago  and  millions  had  been  within  his  reach ;  now 
they  were  out  of  his  reach,  for  the  moment,  at 
least,  and  might  remain  so. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  out  west,  Mack?"  de- 
manded Connors.  "Don't  you  know  you  can't 
get  along  in  this  town?  You  look  like  a  good 
sensible  guy;  why  can't  you  take  a  friendly  tip? 
Why  don't  you " 

He  turned  and  looked  into  the  crook's  face. 
What  he  saw  there  made  him  drop  his  jaw,  made 
the  words  die  away  on  his  lips.  For  Handsome 


28  PLUNDER 

Harry  could  control  his  speech  and  his  actions* 
but  not  his  thoughts,  and  the  murderous  thoughts 
within  him  glared  through  his  eyes.  Connors 
tightened  his  grip  of  the  crook's  arm. 

"Well,"  he  gasped,  "I  think  I'd  better  frisk  you 
for  a  gun!  So  help  me,  if  I  don't  think  you'd 
croak  me  with  as  much  regret  as  you'd 

He  ran  a  hand  over  Harry's  hip  pockets.  The 
crook  had  no  weapon.  Connors'  jaw  jutted  for- 
ward. 

"Smile,  blast  you,  smile!"  he  snarled.  "I'll 
have  no  crook  give  me  an  eye  like  that  if  I 

Behind  them  came  the  sound  of  running  feet. 
Connors  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder,  and  what 
he  saw  there  made  him  almost  lose  his  hold  of 
Harry  Mack.  For  the  three  richest  men  in  Ameri- 
ca, hatless,  breathless,  stared  at  by  gaping  clerks 
who  recognized  them,  were  coming  up  the  side 
street.  Masterman  was  slightly  in  advance;  be- 
hind him  was  Cardigan;  and,  elbows  against  his 
ribs,  puffing  and  sweating,  Blaisdell  brought  up 
the  rear. 

"Well,  I'll  be "  Connors  never  finished  that 

remark,  for  Masterman  flung  himself  upon  Hand- 


PLUNDER  29 

some  Harry.  His  fingers  twined  about  the  lapels 
of  Harry's  coat.  He  turned  to  Blaisdell  and 
Cardigan. 

"Is  this  he?" 

Cardigan  seized  one  arm  of  the  crook,  and 
Blaisdell  the  other,  before  the  astonished  Connors 
could  frame  a  question. 

"He's  the  man,"  cried  Cardigan. 

Blaisdell  merely  puffed. 

"Where's  that  paper?"  cried  Masterman. 
"Where  is  it?"  He  was  not  so  young  as  once 
upon  a  time,  and  sedentary  occupations  had  soft- 
ened his  muscles,  but  nerve  force  lent  the  muscles 
fictitious  strength.  He  shook  the  crook  savagely. 
"Where's  that  paper?" 

Then  Connors  found  speech. 

"What's  the  matter  here?  Leggo  this  man! 
I'm  Connors,  of  the  detective  bureau.  Leggo 
him " 

Masterman  glared  at  the  detective. 

"Shut  up!"  roared  the  master  of  transporta- 
tion. Then  to  Harry:  "Where's  that  paper?" 

"Connors,  take  this  crazy  man  off  me,"  de- 
manded the  crook.  "Take  him  off!" 


30  PLUNDER 

The  detective  placed  a  hand  on  Masterman's 
shoulder. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Masterman,  I'm  taking  this 
man  to  headquarters,  and " 

Masterman  looked  at  the  detective  again,  and 
Connors  withered. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  interfere  with  me,"  he  said. 
"Bring  this  man  to  my  office  at  once !  Now!" 

Of  course  it  was  Connors'  duty  to  take  his 
prisoner  to  headquarters;  but  Connors  was  wise 
in  his  day  and  generation.  He  knew  that  the 
word  of  Martin  Masterman  came  very  near  to 
being  law  in  New  York  City,  and  elsewhere  in 
the  country.  So  while  gaping  hundreds  decided 
that  Handsome  Harry  must  be  some  sneak  thief 
who  had  assaulted  the  proud  integrity  of  the  Mas- 
terman offices,  the  three  multimillionaires  and  the 
detective  herded  the  international  crook  down  the 
side  street  and  into  the  Masterman  Building.  Up 
a  flight  of  stairs  and  to  the  private  office  where 
the  missing  document  had  been  signed,  Master- 
man, still  gripping  the  coat  of  the  crook,  led  the 
way.  At  the  door  he  waved  Connors  back. 

"This  is  private  business.     Wait  outside!"  he 


PLUNDER  31 

snapped,  and  slammed  the  door  in  the  plain-clothes 
man's  face.  Connors  knew  better  than  to  show  re- 
sentment. He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned 
to  a  clerk : 

"What's  up,  anyway?"  he  asked. 

"Some  paper  blew  out  a  window.  Guess  that 
guy  found  it,"  was  the  answer. 

"Ah!"  said  Connors.  He  composed  himself  to 
wait.  In  ten  minutes  Masterman  came  out. 

He  pressed  a  slip  of  paper  into  Connors'  hand. 
The  detective  looked  at  it.  It  was  an  order  on  the 
Masterman  cashier  for  two  hundred  dollars. 

"What's  this  for?"  queried  Connors. 

"The  time  I've  made  you  lose,"  said  Master- 
man. 

"And  where's  my  man?" 

"You  don't  want  him,"  said  Masterman  quietly. 

Connors  looked  into  the  hard  gray  eyes  of  the 
master  of  transportation. 

"But  I've  got  my  report  to  make  out.  Some 
one  may  have  seen " 

"He  was  a  sneak  thief;  I  sent  you  after  him. 
Later  I  refused  to  make  a  charge,  and  asked  you 
to  say  nothing  about  the  matter.  I  have  some 


32  PLUNDER 

slight  influence  with  your  commissioner,  Connors. 
I  am  going  to  recommend  to  him  that  you  be  made 
a  sergeant.  Do  you  understand?  Good  morn- 

ing." 

"Thank  you,  sir;  good  morning,"  replied  Con- 
nors. He  understood  that  he  had  his  choice  of 
being  broken  or  promoted.  He  preferred  promo- 
tion, so  he  made  no  report  of  the  interrupted 
arrest  of  Handsome  Harry  Mack.  That  incident 
was  never  placed  upon  police  record;  for  the 
threads  of  the  Masterman  power  ran  high  and 
low,  and  into  the  farthest  corners. 


Ill 


WHEN  the  three  richest  men  in  America, 
accompanied  by  Handsome  Harry, 
reached  Masterman's  office,  the  latter  took  charge. 

"Hand  over  that  paper,"  he  ordered. 

Handsome  Harry  looked  bewildered. 

"What  paper?  What's  all  this  about?  I  tell 
you,  I'm  an  American  citizen  with  rights.  I'll 
have  the  police " 

"You  picked  up  a  paper  from  the  street,"  in- 
terrupted Masterman.  "These  gentlemen  saw 
you.  No  possible  mistake,  Blaisdell,  Cardigan?" 

The  two  men  had  got  a  good  look  at  Hand- 
some Harry  from  the  window  of  the  other  office ; 
and  his  dress  was  distinctive.  This  beyond  ques- 
tion was  the  man.  But  they  had  not  seen  him 
enter  the  offices  of  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company. 
Blaisdell  and  Cardigan  had  been  on  the  stairs  at 
that  moment,  and  Masterman,  not  knowing  for 
which  person  on  the  crowded  street  to  look,  did 
not  know  of  that  excursion  either. 

33 


34  PLUNDER 

"He  read  it,  too,"  said  Blaisdell. 

"Hand  it  over,"  demanded  Masterman. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  in- 
sisted Mack. 

Cardigan's  jaws  set  heavily.     His  great  fists 
were  knotted. 

"Take  off  your  clothes,"  he  ordered. 

Handsome  Harry  had  heard  enough  about  the 
three  men  in  the  room  with  him  to  realize  that 
they  had  slight  respect  for  such  trifles  as  a  man's 
constitutional  rights  or  the  law.  Further,  he  had 
read  the  paper,  and  knew  that  they  must  be  des 
perate,  that  he  was  playing  with  death.  Sullenly 
he  removed  his  garments.  Every  inch  of  them 
was  searched  by  all  three  financiers,  but  the  paper 
was  not  produced. 

"But   he   had   it,"   piped   the   thin   voice    of 
Blaisdell. 

"I  saw  him  read  it,"  rumbled  the  bass  of  Car- 
digan. 

Masterman  looked  at  the  crook. 

"You  know  who  we  are,"  he  said.    "You  know 
what  that  paper  means.    Where  did  you  put  it?" 

Handsome   Harry   had    donned   his   clothing 


PLUNDER  35 

again.  Being  dressed  brought  back  his  courage, 
which  had  been  at  its  lowest  ebb  while  he  stood, 
naked,  before  these  ithree  men,  whose  very  fright 
rendered  them  the  more  dangerous. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  he 
said. 

Masterman  surveyed  him  a  moment. 

"The  detective  outside  had  arrested  you ;  you're 
some  sort  of  criminal.  I  think  that  a  word  from 
me  will  make  it  certain  that  you'll  be  confined 
in  jail  until  you're  willing  to  tell  us  where  that 
paper  is.  Shall  I  give  him  that  word?" 

Handsome  Harry  was  no  fool;  he  knew  that, 
dangerous  and  powerful  as  these  men  were,  he 
would  be  safe  at  their  hands  so  long  as  they  be- 
lieved he  knew  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  paper 
and  would  not  divulge  his  knowledge.  It  was 
time  to  end  his  bluff. 

"And  suppose  I  told  him — or  any  man  that's 
my  jailer — the  contents  of  that  paper?  Think 
he'd  let  me  go  and  help  me  get  it,  or  not?" 

There  was  force  to  this  remark.  The  multi- 
millionaires knew,  each  of  them,  that  they'd  pay 
millions  for  the  return  of  that  paper.  The  veriest 


36  PLUNDER 

tyro  would  know  its  value  as  a  lever  for  the 
prying  up  of  blackmail. 

"How  much  do  you  want  for  it?"  demanded 
Masterman. 

"Send  Connors  away,"  said  Handsome  Harry. 

It  was  then  that  Masterman  got  rid  of  the  de- 
tective. Returning,  he  repeated  his  question. 

"I  haven't  decided  yet,"  said  Harry.  "I'll  have 
to  think  it  over." 

"Why  temporize  with  him,  Masterman?"  de- 
manded Cardigan.  "Send  out  for  some  dope ;  put 
him  to  sleep ;  take  him  down  to  my  place  on  Long 
Island — I'll  make  him  talk."  He  glared  at  Hand- 
some Harry,  and  nervousness  again  attacked  the 
crook.  But  his  position  was  as  strong  as  theirs. 

"Oh,  you  won't  do  anything  like  that,"  he  said. 
"A  good  many  people  have  seen  me  come  in  here. 
You  come  an  inch  nearer  me  and  I'll  yell  at  the 
top  of  my  lungs.  You  can't  vouch  for  all  your 
clerks  outside.  Some  one  of  them  will  talk,  you 
know  that.  You  wouldn't  really  dare  to  kill  me." 

"No?    Are  you  certain?"  asked  Cardigan. 

"Not  while  a  friend  of  mine  has  that  paper," 
sneered  Handsome  Harry. 


PLUNDER  37 

"Who's  the  friend?"  asked  Masterman. 

Handsome  Harry  took  a  cigarette  from  a  case 
and  lighted  it 

"Oh,  don't  be  silly,"  he  yawned.  "Let's  get 
down  to  business.  How  much  for  that  paper? 
And  let's  not  have  any  argument  about  it.  I'm 
no  fool;  I  know  exactly  what  it's  worth  to  me. 
How  much  is  it  worth  to  you?" 

"I'll  give  you  ten  thousand  dollars  for  it," 
said  Masterman  quickly. 

"And  I  want  one  million,"  smiled  Handsome 
Harry.  "Not  a  cent  less!  What  do  you  say? 
You  can't  murder  me.  Even  if  you  could  in 
safety,  you'd  not  dare  until  you  got  that  paper 
back.  The  whip  hand  is  mine.  Gentlemen,  what's 
the  answer?" 

Just  as  brainy  in  his  own  way  as  either  of  his 
three  antagonists,  was  this  crook.  Masterman 
realized  that  at  once.  A  million  was  a  fearful 
price  to  pay  for  one  second's  carelessness;  but 
the  crook  spoke  truly;  he  held  the  whip  hand. 
More  important,  he  had  the  brains  to  perceive 
what  he  held. 


38  PLUNDER 

"A  million,"  said  Masterman  slowly.  "Well, 
Mr.— er " 

"Mack,"  said  Handsome  Harry,  discarding 
the  titled  alias  in  favor  of  the  one  whereby  he  was 
known  to  the  police. 

"Well,  Mr.  Mack,  how  long  will  it  take  you 
to  get  that  paper?" 

"Not  long  after  you've  handed  me  my  price," 
smiled  Handsome  Harry.  The  smile  was  a  proof 
of  his  histrionic  abilities,  for  it  was  nearing  half 
past  twelve.  In  a  few  moments  young  Grant,  in 
whose  pocket  was  the  document,  would  go  for  his 
luncheon.  If  he  happened  to  put  his  hand  into 
his  pocket — well,  Handsome  Harry  smiled,  but 
the  Spartan  boy  who  said  nothing  about  the  fox 
gnawing  at  his  vitals  had  nothing  on  Handsome 
Harry  Mack  at  that  moment. 

"You  don't  expect  a  million  in  advance !"  cried 
Blaisdell. 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  return  that  paper  be- 
fore I  get  it,  do  you  ?"  sneered  Handsome  Harry. 

It  was  an  impasse.  Masterman  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"Will  your  friend  give  the  paper  back  to  you?" 


PLUNDER  39 

"If  he  doesn't  you're  in  a  million,"  replied 
Mack. 

He  lighted  another  cigarette  and  grinned  cheer- 
fully. He  had  the  three  richest  men  in  America 
— in  the  world,  perhaps — on  the  hip,  and  the  sit- 
uation suited  him  right  down  to  the  ground. 

"And  you'll  be  back  here — how  soon  ?" 

"You'll  have  time  to  raise  the  cash,"  said 
Harry.  "Cashiers'  checks  on  any  good  bank  will 
do  me.  And  don't  try  any  nonsense!  I  won't 
have  the  paper  with  me  when  I  return.  I'll  have 
it  near,  but  not  on  me.  I'll  phone  you  before  I'm 
coming.  I'll  fix  my  plans  and  you  follow  them. 
Understand?  And  now  I  guess  I'll  be  going." 

"Don't  you  trust  us?"  demanded  the  ashen 
shaking  Blaisdell. 

"About  as  far,"  said  Handsome  Harry,  "as  I 
could  throw  an  ocean  liner  over  my  shoulder  left- 
handed." 

Masterman  pressed  a  bell  with  his  foot;  he 
pressed  it  twice  swiftly,  and  then  gave  one  long 
ring.  It  was  a  well  understood  signal.  It  meant 
that  the  person  just  leaving  the  private  office  was 
to  be  shadowed  by  private  operatives  of  the 


40  PLUNDER 

Greenham  Detective  Agency,  situated  on  the 
ground  floor  of  the  Masterman  Building.  The 
Greenham  Detective  Agency  existed  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  aiding  Mr.  Martin  Masterman,  and  it 
employed  the  cleverest  sleuths  that  money  could 
retain.  Needless  to  state,  Mr.  Masterman  had  no 
intention  of  paying  a  million  to  Handsome  Harry 
if  such  payment  could  be  avoided. 

"You  understand  the  vital  importance  of  our 
getting  that  paper  back,"  said  Masterman.  "The 
high  price  you  name  proves  your  understanding 
of  its  importance.  We'll  pay  the  price;  but  in 
return  for  that  price  we  demand  speed.  We  want 
that  paper  before  it's  been  read  by  others." 

"I'm  not  anxious  to  have  its  value  lessened  by 
others  seeing  it  and  blabbing,"  said  Handsome 
Harry.  "I'll  phone  you  as  soon  as  I  see  my 
friend.  You  do  as  I  tell  you  to  do,  or — well, 
there's  newspapers  that'll  pay  something  for  that 
paper !" 

He  rose,  and  stood  a  moment  looking  round  the 
office.  In  a  few  days  he'd  have  squared  the  police 
with  a  few  thousands,  and  he,  Handsome  Harry 
Mack,  millionaire,  would  have  an  office  like  this. 


PLUNDER  41 

Not  that  he  intended  to  work,  but  he  desired  to 
enter  society,  and  opening  a  bank  or  something 
would  afford  an  entering  wedge. 

"Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  he  said  with  su- 
perb aplomb.  Then  he  left  the  office. 

Cardigan's  mouth  opened;  Blaisdell's  lips 
parted.  But  the  mighty  Masterman  cut  off  their 
speech. 

"Don't  bark,"  he  ordered.  "I  know  what  you 
have  to  say;  but  it  was  your  fault  as  much  as 
mine.  You  ought  to  have  hung  on  to  it  when  I 
opened  the  door " 

"We  ought  to  have  done  what  I  suggested," 
growled  Cardigan.  "Drug  him " 

"Gentlemen,  I'm  doing  this,"  said  Masterman. 

"Are  you  paying  the  whole  million?"  said 
Blaisdell  with  a  snarl. 

"A  million?"  Masterman  smiled.  "I  had  to 
let  him  go;  but  I  think  the  Greenham  people  will 
save  me  from  that  expenditure.  There  are  ways 
— and  ways." 

He  turned  and  spoke  into  a  tube  that  connected 
with  the  office  of  the  manager  of  the  detective 
office  down-stairs. 


42  PLUNDER 

"Man  leaving  my  office;  going  to  get  valuable 
paper;  blackmail — millions.  Be  careful;  get  him 
— when  he  has  the  paper !" 

Not  much,  but  enough  for  such  shrewd  people 
as  the  Greenhams. 

Masterman  let  the  tube  drop  back  into  its 
socket  in  his  desk,  and  wiped  his  forehead  with 
a  trembling  hand.  Man  of  iron  nerve  that  he 
was,  this  morning  had  tried  him  to  the  limit.  He 
stared  at  Cardigan  and  Blaisdell.  They  were  in 
worse  shape  than  he,  for  self -repression  was  a 
religion  with  Masterman,  and  he  held  himself  in 
as  they  could  not. 

"What'll  we  do  now?"  quavered  Blaisdell. 
"Where  could  he  have  put  .that  paper?  Why 
didn't  we  see  him  hand  it  to  a  friend — if  he  did? 
Why " 

Burly  Cardigan  frowned  little  Blaisdell  into 
silence.  The  ex-laborer  looked  almost  pleadingly 
at  Masterman. 

"Martin,"  he  said,  "it's  going  to  be  hell  waitin' 
to  hear  from  the  Greenhams  or  that  crooked 
shrimp  Mack.  Can't  you  suggest  something  we 
could  be  doing?" 


PLUNDER  43 

"Yes,"  said  Masterman.  "A  drink." 
He  procured  a  bottle  and  glasses  from  a  recess 
in  the  wall.  That  recess  was  approached  only  on 
the  most  important  occasions,  usually  to  celebrate 
some  tremendous  coup  on  the  part  of  the  great 
master  of  transportation;  but  to-day  Masterman 
and  his  companions  were  in  no  mood  for  cele- 
brations; they  were  drinking  to  settle  their  nerves. 


IV 


HANDSOME  HARRY  MACK  paused  a 
moment  in  the  street  and  drew  a  long 
breath.  On  a  broken  flush  he  had  once  forced  an 
opponent  to  lay  down  four  kings,  when  there  were 
six  thousand  dollars  in  the  pot,  and  he  had  never 
turned  a  hair.  He  had  nerve  to  spare ;  like  a  Bret 
Harte  gambler,  he  was  always  cool.  But  now 
for  once  he  was  unnerved.  He  had  met  the  most 
powerful  man  on  earth,  looked  him  in  the  eye, 
and  played  his  cards  to  victory!  The  man  who 
could  do  this  thing  was  destined  to  mighty  things. 
A  million  dollars  was  the  prize;  but — a  million 
was  but  the  start.  There  was  no  reason  why  the 
nerve  and  brain  and  cool  resource  of  Handsome 
Harry  Mack,  backed  by  this  first  million,  should 
not  carry  him  to  that  very  pinnacle  which  Mas- 
terman  occupied.  A  few  minutes  ago  he'd 
thought  of  the  pleasure  of  entering  society;  now 
he  decided  that  he  would  use  his  fortune  to  attain 

44 


PLUNDER  45 

power.  He  started  up  the  side  street  toward  the 
offices  of  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company. 

It  was  a  blowy  day,  such  as  often  comes  in 
early  June.  One  of  those  errant  winds  that  had 
wafted  the  document  into  the  crook's  hands  now 
lifted  the  hat  from  his  head.  He  turned  swiftly 
and  leaped  after  it,  and  caught  it  in  a  dozen  yards. 
As  he  ran  he  passed  a  man  whom  he  had  once 
seen  in  Monte  Carlo.  The  man  had  been  pointed 
out  as  a  detective  from  America  in  search  of  a 
missing  bank  defaulter.  The  man  was  coming 
toward  Harry,  and  as  the  international  crook 
clapped  his  hat  upon  his  head,  the  detective 
passed  by  and  continued  up  the  side  street  with- 
out so  much  as  a  glance  at  Harry.  But  the 
crook's  keen  eyes  hardened  as  he  stared  back  at 
the  Masterman  Building.  He  remembered  what 
was  gossip  among  the  denizens  of  the  under- 
world— that  Martin  Masterman' s  vaults  were 
the  best  protected  in  the  world,  both  by  mechan- 
ical and  by  human  agencies. 

It  was  the  last  that  counted.  For  through 
the  crooked  channels  of  its  information  had 
seeped  to  the  underworld  the  news  that  in  the 


46  PLUNDER 

Masterman  Building  itself  were  stationed,  under 
charge  of  Robert  and  Terence  Greenham,  a  score 
of  detectives  who,  having  made  their  marks  in 
police,  secret-service  or  private-agency  circles, 
had  been  attracted  to  the  financier's  service  by 
reason  of  the  salaries  he  paid. 

For  ten  seconds  Handsome  Harry  stared  at 
the  Masterman  Building;  then  he  turned  and  con- 
tinued up  the  side  street.  He  walked  past  the 
offices  of  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company,  and  on 
into  Broadway,  for  he  was  clever  enough  to  give 
his  opponents  credit  for  brains  even  in  the  mo- 
ment of  his  own  triumph.  He  blessed  fate  for 
the  wind  that  had  taken  off  his  hat  and  made  him 
alive  to  his  danger.  His  lips  were  smiling  as  he 
turned  up  Broadway,  smiling  at  the  good  luck 
that  was  still  with  him,  that  had  given  him  warn- 
ing when,  overconfident,  he  had  been  about  to 
betray  himself  into  the  hands  of  Masterman's  de- 
tectives. 

He  had  never  a  doubt  in  the  world  but  that  the 
man  he  had  recognized  had  been  upon  his  trail, 
and  that  undoubtedly  there  were  a  dozen  others, 
whom  he  could  not  recognize,  round  him  now,  in 


PLUNDER  47 

the  throng  that  crowded  the  sidewalk.  Martin 
Masterman  was  not  the  man  to  give  ten  thousand 
dollars,  much  less  a  million,  to  any  man  on  any 
threats,  without  an  effort  to  avoid  payment. 
And  Handsome  Harry,  flushed  with  triumph,  had 
almost  forgotten  that.  Almost,  but  not  quite! 
The  smile  left  his  lips  and  his  mouth  became 
grim  as  he  walked  on,  with  a  briskness  that  would 
deceive  those  following  him  into  thinking  that  he 
had  some  definite  objective  point  for  this  walk. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  and  found  that  it  was 
twenty-five  minutes  past  twelve.  It  was  absurd 
to  hope  to  throw  those  whom  he  knew  were  upon 
his  trail  off  the  scent  in  five  minutes,  and  gain 
the  office  of  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company.  As 
he  recognized  this  fact,  and  its  important  corol- 
lary, that  Grant  might  find  the  paper  in  his  pock- 
et, he  set  his  wits  to  work.  He  stepped  into  a 
cigar  store  and  entered  the  telephone  booth.  He 
got  the  bucket-shop  in  a  moment. 

"I'd  like  to  speak  to  Mr.  Grant." 

"Not  here." 

He  choked  back  an  exclamation.  His  schem- 
ing brain  had  evolved  a  plan  whereby  he  hoped 


48  PLUNDER 

to  get  Grant  to  meet  him,  away  from  the  pres- 
ence of  the  following  detectives,  and  before,  if 
Fate  willed,  the  clerk  had  found  the  paper  in  his 
pocket.  And  Grant  was  not  there.  He  might 
at  this  moment  be  gloating  over  the  document 
that  meant  millions  to  Handsome  Harry  Mack! 

"Not  there?"  His  voice  was  cool  enough, 
though  his  temples  pounded.  "Thought  he  didn't 
go  to  lunch  until  half  past  twelve?" 

"Went  at  noon  to-day,"  came  the  answer. 
"Any  message?" 

"Where  does  he  lunch?"  asked  Harry. 

"Search  me,"  was  the  cheerful  reply.  "Any 
message  ?" 

"N-no,"  said  Handsome  Harry. 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  was  about  to 
open  the  booth  door,  when  he  saw  a  man  lounge 
into  the  store  and  toss  a  coin  upon  the  cigar 
case.  There  is  something  about  the  detective 
that  tells  the  crook  of  his  natural  enemy,  even  as 
there  is  about  the  crook  an  aura  that  informs  the 
detective  of  the  presence  of  his  natural  prey. 
Handsome  Harry  smiled  and  dropped  another 
coin  in  the  slot. 


PLUNDER  '49 

"Plaza  90,000,"  he  said.  And  a  moment 
later:  "Mr.  Robinson?  *  Not  there?  Wrong 
number?  Excuse  me." 

Then  he  rang  off  and  stepped  out  of  the  booth. 
In  the  door  of  the  cigar  store  he  stood  long 
enough  to  note  that  the  cigar-purchasing  gentle- 
man had  entered  the  booth.  Then  he  walked  up 
Broadway,  still  smiling.  For  the  detective,  if 
he  inquired  what  number  Harry  had  just  asked 
for,  would  be  given  Plaza  90,000,  a  number  that 
had  hopped  into  Harry's  brain  from  nowhere  at 
all.  Harry  knew  detectives;  it  was  a  million  to 
one  that  the  sleuth  would  never  think  of  asking 
if  there  had  been  a  previous  number  requested 
by  the  crook.  And  million  to  one  shots  are 
worth  playing  when  millions  are  at  stake. 

But  this  momentary  triumph,  if  such  it  could 
be  called,  was  soon  lost  sight  of  in  the  presence 
of  the  defeat  that  had  swept  his  desperate  plans 
away.  Grant  had  left  the  bucket-shop  before 
Harry  had  been  able  to  speak  with  him!  Even 
now  the  clerk  might  be  reading  the  precious  doc- 
ument; even  now  he  might  be  planning  to  seize 
the  profit  that  belonged  to  Harry  Mack.  He 


50  PLUNDER 

stopped  short  and  clenched  his  hands.  He  dared 
not  go  in  search  of  Grant;  the  detectives  follow- 
ing him  would  undoubtedly  arrest  him  on  some 
trumped-up  charge  the  moment  he  spoke  to  any 
one.  And  arrest  that  "any  one,"  too!  Further- 
more, there  were  hundreds  of  restaurants  and 
lunch  rooms  in  the  down-town  district;  to  which 
of  these  could  he  turn  with  any  real  hope  of  find- 
ing Grant? 

Just  then  a  saloon  near  by  caught  his  eye;  he 
entered  it,  had  a  stiff  drink  at  the  bar  and  then 
sat  down  at  a  table  in  the  rear,  where  "Business 
Men's  Lunch"  was  served.  The  drink  gave  back 
to  him  that  nerve  that  Grant's  absence  had 
shaken.  He  was  himself  again;  he  was  able  to 
feel  real  mirth  as  he  noticed  two  men  enter  and 
line  up  at  the  bar.  They  were  men  he  had  never 
seen  before,  so  far  as  he  knew ;  and  they  did  not 
wear  the  broad  shoe  of  the  detective  who  has 
been  promoted  from  the  uniformed  force.  Ap- 
parently they  were  prosperous  business  or  profes- 
sional men.  But  the  eye  of  Handsome  Harry 
was  at  its  keenest  now,  and  at  its  keenest  it  is 


PLUNDER  51 

doubtful  if  any  detective  living  could  have  hidden 
his  occupation  from  it. 

Now  that  he  had  got  his  nerve  back  again, 
it  amused  the  crook  to  know  that  he  was  fol- 
lowed. In  his  own  good  time  he  would  elude 
his  trailers,  clever  though  they  might  be;  he  had 
no  fear  of  his  ability  to  do  that,  if  he  were  given 
time.  Handsome  Harry  ate  his  steak  and  fried 
potatoes  leisurely  and  heartily;  he  ordered  pie, 
and  washed  it  down  with  beer.  It  was  a  little 
after  one  when  he  arose  and  paid  his  check. 
Grant  should  be  back  from  luncheon  by  now. 

There  was  a  booth  in  the  bar.  He  used  it,  once 
to  call  up  the  bucket-shop  and  learn  that  Grant 
had  not  yet  returned,  and  once  to  call  up  the  Hotel 
Astor — and  ask  for  a  Mr.  Clarkin,  another  myth- 
ical friend.  Then  he  came  out  of  the  booth,  and 
any  lingering  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  two 
men  who  had  lingered  drinking  at  the  bar  was 
dispelled  when  one  of  them  entered  the  booth. 

Handsome  Harry  had  another  drink,  to  settle 
nerves  a  little  ruffled  again.  An  hour  is  a  long 
luncheon  time  for  a  clerk  in  a  busy  bucket-shop. 


52  PLUNDER 

What  if  Grant  had  read  the  paper?  He  gulped 
his  drink  and  shook  his  shoulders  to  dispel  this 
thought.  His  every  fiber  itched  to  race  to  the 
bucket-shop  and  meet  Grant  upon  his  return ;  but 
this  he  dared  not  do.  He  could  only  wait  and 
phone  again.  And  while  he  waited  he  would 
give  his  friends  the  Greenhams  a  chase. 

He  did.  He  led  them  to  the  Battery,  a  twenty- 
minute  walk.  He  had  another  drink  there,  before 
telephoning  the  bucket-shop.  Grant  had  not  re- 
turned! He  took  a  surface  car  up  Broadway, 
clear  to  Twenty-third  Street.  There  once  again 
he  telephoned,  as  in  the  other  cases,  asking  for  a 
second  number  after  learning  that  Grant  was  still 
absent.  The  clerk  who  answered  the  telephone 
expressed  ignorance  of  any  business  that  could 
detain  Grant  so  long.  Even  the  various  drinks 
that  he  had  absorbed  could  no  longer  give  to 
Handsome  Harry  the  nerve  that  Grant's  strange 
absence  was  destroying.  For  Harry  had  asked, 
this  last  time,  if  Grant  had  worn  his  coat  when 
he  went  out  to  luncheon,  and  was  told  that  he 
had.  There  was  perspiration  on  his  forehead 
when,  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later,  he  called 


PLUNDER  53 

up  the  office  of  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company  for 
the  last  time. 

"Grant  hasn't  come  back  from  lunch,"  said  the 
telephone  clerk.  "And  if  you're  a  friend  of  his 
and  happen  to  see  him  to-night,  better  tell  him  to 
frame  up  a  good  excuse  for  the  boss.  Mr.  Man- 
ners is  sore  as  can  be." 

There  was  no  doubt  any  longer!  Grant,  as 
might  have  been  expected  from  the  very  begin- 
ning of  Handsome  Harry's  desperate  grab  for 
fortune,  had  found  and  read  the  paper  signed  by 
the  millionaires !  Handsome  Harry  knew  it,  and 
the  knowledge  made  his  light-gray  eyes  darken, 
made  his  muscles  tighten,  and  his  thin  lips  harden. 
Inured  to  defeat  in  his  schemes,  as  is  every  crook, 
yet  he  was  not  the  sort  to  accept  defeat  easily. 
For  a  moment  the  anger  that  swept  over  him  left 
him  speechless.  Finally  he  managed  to  ask : 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  he  lives?  This  is 
Sir  Fitz-Roy  Bray  talking.  He  was  to  show  me 
some  of  the  sights  of  interest  in  your  charming 

city  "  Once  started  he  lied  fluently,  and 

the  cultured  English  accent  that  had  been  missing 
in  previous  inquiries  returned  to  him.  "He  was 


54  PLUNDER 

to  take  me  out  to-night,  you  know,  and  I've  dis- 
covered that  I  have  a  previous  engagement " 

The  telephone  clerk  whistled  softly  to  himself. 
He  had  not  known  that  Grant  and  the  English- 
man, whose  custom  was  such  an  asset  to  the 
bucket-shop,  were  at  all  friendly.  But  he  did 
not  keep  the  crook  waiting  for  an  answer,  great 
as  was  his  surprise.  Like  many  other  good 
Americans  the  telephone  clerk  hated  titled  per- 
sonages in  the  abstract;  but  in  the  concrete  they 
were  people  of  whose  acquaintance  one  might 
brag  to  one's  dying  day,  incurring  the  envy  of  all 
other  royalty-hating  Americans.  We  owe  much 
to  England,  the  mother-country,  including  snob- 
bery. 

"Just  a  minute,  Sir  Fitz-Roy,  sir.  One  sec- 
ond. I'll  get  it." 

And  while  Handsome  Harry  drew  a  furtive 
hand  across  a  wet  forehead,  the  telephone  clerk 
looked  up  the  address  requested.  A  moment 

later :  "His  address  is West  Twenty-third 

Street.  But  if  he  ain't  there,  Sir  Fitz-Roy,  I'll 
gladly  tell  him  when  he  comes  in  here,  if  he  does. 
Maybe  somethin'  's  happened  to  him  though.  It 


PLUNDER  55 

ain't  like  him  to  leave  his  work  all  afternoon. 
And  if  anythin'  had  happened  to  him,  and  you 
want  to  see  the  town,  I'd  be  glad " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Handsome  Harry.  "Per- 
haps I  will."  He  rang  off.  He  had  presence  of 
mind  enough  to  call  up  a  second  number  and  ask 
for  some  non-existent  person,  wondering,  as  he 
did  so,  how  soon  the  various  gentlemen  who  were 
always  waiting  for  him  to  leave  the  booth  would 
tumble  to  his  trick. 

He  was  down-town  now,  near  City  Hall,  hav- 
ing ridden  in  a  surface  car  between  his  Twenty- 
third  Street  and  his  final  telephone  calls.  He 
wished  that  he  had  had  sense  enough  to  ask 
Grant's  address  earlier.  That  he  hadn't  was 
proof  that  during  the  past  few  hours  his  acute- 
ness  had  been  waning.  He  would  go  to  that  ad- 
dress as  soon  as  he  had  thrown  off  the  scent  the 
detectives  who  followed  him.  And  that,  given 
a  little  time,  was  simple. 

He  entered  the  lobby  of  a  building  near  City 
Hall  Park.  He  knew  its  various  entrances  per- 
fectly. Like  the  experienced  crook  that  he  was, 
he  had  spent  several  afternoons  in  familiarizing 


56  PLUNDER 

himself  with  the  floor  plans  of  most  of  the  larger 
office  buildings  on  Broad  Street,  Wall  Street, 
Nassau  Street,  lower  Broadway  and  other  thor- 
oughfares. He  rarely  neglected  details  that 
might  later  aid  him  in  a  get-away.  That  care  re- 
paid him  now,  for  he  knew  the  building  which  he 
entered. 

He  waited  in  the  lobby  a  moment,  until  the 
starter  signaled  a  car  to  go  aloft,  then  he  sprang 
forward  just  in  time  to  avoid  being  caught  by  the 
closing  door  of  the  elevator.  He  might  have 
been  crushed  by  the  door  and  rising  car.  That 
was  a  risk  of  the  trade.  But  he  was  not,  and 
the  angrily  cursing  elevator  boy  was  silenced  by 
the  bill  which  Handsome  Harry  thrust  into  his 
hand. 

"The  fourth  floor,"  snapped  Harry.  "I'm  in 
a  hurry!" 

Potent  is  money.  The  elevator  was  an  ex- 
press, due  to  make  no  stops  before  the  twelfth 
floor;  but  it  stopped  and  Handsome  Harry 
bounded  into  the  corridor.  While  Greenham 
operatives  took  later  elevators  and  combed  the 


PLUNDER  57 

upper  floors,  he  had  walked  down  three  flights 
of  stairs  that  led  to  a  side  exit,  and  was  out  of 
the  building.  A  few  minutes  later,  and  he  was 
on  a  Ninth  Avenue  elevated  train.  In  twenty 
minutes  he  was  ringing  the  door-bell  at  a  number 
on  West  Twenty-third  Street. 

"Is  Mr.  Grant  in?"  he  inquired. 

The  slattern  maid  looked  at  him.  She  shook 
her  head. 

"He  ain't  here." 

"Has  he  been  here  this  afternoon?" 

This  time  she  nodded. 

"About  a  hour  ago." 

"When  will  he  be  back?" 

"He  won't  be  back.  He  paid  his  bill  and 
packed  his  suit-case  and  left.  He  said  he'd  send 
for  his  trunk  next  week  maybe.  But  he's  gone 
for  good !  And  he  didn't  leave  no  address." 

Before  this  doubt  had  departed;  now  hope 
went  the  same  way.  Young  Grant  had  read  the 
paper,  and  had  disappeared,  that  from  some  un- 
known point  of  vantage  he  might  reap  the  reward 
that  should  have  been  Handsome  Harry's  but 


58  PLUNDER 

for  the  meddling  of  Detective  Connors.  There 
and  then  Handsome  Harry  swore  an  oath  to  get 
even  with  that  gentleman  of  the  police. 

The  slattern  slavey  watched  him  with  interest 
as  he  went  down  the  path  through  the  narrow 
grass-plot  that  fronts  the  block  of  houses  where 
Grant  had  roomed. 

"I'll  bet,"  she  told  herself,  "that  Mr.  Grant 
s  him  money  an'  is  duckin'  town  on  that  ac- 
count." 

She  could  not  know  that  she  was  looking  upon 
a  man  upon  whose  door  Opportunity  had 
knocked,  only  to  pass  along  before  he  could 
answer. 


TWO  people  stared  at  each  other  across  the 
white  cloth  of  a  restaurant  table.  Their 
tea  grew  cold,  and  the  pile  of  English  muffins 
had  not  diminished  since  the  waiter  had  brought 
them  half  an  hour  before.  Dimpled  elbows  on 
the  table  and  firm  chin  in  palms,  the  girl  stared^ 
at  the  man.  Less  nervous  than  he,  it,  neverthe- 
less, was  evident  that  the  strain  under  which  he 
so  patiently  labored  had  communicated  itself  to 
her.  For  the  dozenth  time  she  put  the  question : 

"And  you're  sure  it's  genuine?" 

"I've  seen  their  signatures  hundreds  of  times 
on  stock  certificates,"  replied  the  young  man. 
"Furthermore,  the  newspapers  have  had  accounts 
of  Masterman's  conferences  with  Schlossfelt  and  ' 
Montfoucault.  The  papers  couldn't  guess  the 
reason  for  the  conferences,  but  we  can  guess 
now,  eh?" 

Her  voice  did  not  partake  of  the  triumph  that 
was  in  his. 

59 


60  PLUNDER 

"Yes,  we  can,"  she  agreed  soberly.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence.  "And  you  haven't  even 
the  vaguest  idea  of  how  it  came  into  your  coat 
pocket?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I've  told  you  all  I  know,  Kirby.  I  went  to 
lunch  a  bit  early  to-day.  I  wore  my  raincoat, 
not  because  it  was  cloudy,  but  because  of  my  cold. 
As  I  was  taking  it  off  in  Moquin's  I  felt  a  paper 
in  the  pocket.  I  took  it  out  and  read  it.  Then 
— well.  I've  told  you  how  I  felt,  what  I  did, 
how  I  wandered  the  streets  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
trying  to  make  up  my  mind,  trying  to  fathom 
the  mystery  of  how  it  got  into  my  possession.  I 
gave  up  wondering  about  that.  I  had  it,  that 
was  enough.  And  I  knew  that  it  was  genuine ;  I 
know  it  now!  I  couldn't  go  back  to  the  office; 
whoever  put  that  paper  in  my  coat  might  come 
back  for  it.  And  my  title  to  it  was  certainly  as 
good  as  the  title  of  the  man  who  placed  it  there. 
It  was  undoubtedly  stolen,  and  it  was  a  danger- 
ous thing  to  have  in  one's  possession.  Men  have 
been  killed  for  things  worth  a  thousandth  part 
what  this  paper  is  worth.  And  as  I  couldn't 


PLUNDER  61 

make  up  my  mind  what  to  do,  and  knew  my  dan- 
ger— well,  I  went  home,  packed  a  suit-case,  gave 
up  my  room,  paid  my  bill,  telephoned  you,  and 
here  we  are!" 

He  tried  to  laugh,  but  there  was  little  mirth 
in  his  tones. 

"You  wanted  my  advice,  Dick?"  He  nodded. 
She  was  thoughtful.  "And  hadn't  you  planned 
anything  ?" 

He  smiled  nervously. 

"Well,  I'd  planned  honeymooning  with  you 
on  one  of  the  finest  yachts  afloat.  I'd  planned 
a  place  in  the  hills  of  Virginia,  a  suite  overlook- 
ing Central  Park,  a  bungalow  at  Palm  Beacji  and 
a  villa  at  Bar  Harbor.  I  hadn't  planned  much 
beyond  that,  Kirby." 

She  looked  him  in  the  eye.  He  met  her  gaze 
shamefacedly,  yet  with  a  certain  questioning. 
She  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"You  really  hadn't  planned  to  blackmail 
them?" 

"That's  an  ugly  word,  Kirby.  Let  us  say 
that  I — had  something  to  sell  worth  some  mil- 
lions probably.  If  they  wanted  to  buy " 


62  PLUNDER 

"You  don't  mean  that,  Dick." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  couldn't!" 

"I  might." 

He  swallowed  painfully  and  reached  for  a  muf- 
fin. Between  the  strong  fingers  of  his  right 
hand  he  crumpled  the  bread.  He  leaned  across 
the  table  until  his  face  was  close  to  hers.  The 
waiter,  who  had  observed  with  rising  choler  their 
failure  to  touch  either  tea  or  muffins,  smiled 
vaguely  to  himself.  It  was  a  lovers'  tiff,  in  pro- 
cess now  of  being  made  up.  Soon  they  would 
ring  for  fresh  tea  and  would  be  smiling  at  each 
other.  The  waiter's  tip  would  be  very  large. 

"Look  here,  Kirby,"  said  the  young  man, 
"think  what  this  means!  Trips  abroad,  yachts, 
automobiles,  country  houses " 

"  'And  he  took  Him  up  upon  a  mountain  and 
showed  Him  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,'  "  said 
the  girl.  The  youth  flushed.  "Dick,"  she  went 
on,  "you  don't,  you  can't  mean  it!" 

"You  think  so?"  He  smiled,  a  mocking  ten- 
derness in  his  eyes.  "You  really  think  that  I'm 
good  enough  to  give  up  a  chance  at  millions  ?" 


PLUNDER  63 

"Good  isn't  the  word,"  she  answered.  "Strong 
enough!  The  man  I  love  is  strong  enough  to 
put  behind  him  the  wrong  and  to  choose  the 
right.  There  are  times  when  mere  'goodness' 
is  not  enough  for  that;  it  requires  strength,  and 
the  man  I  love  is  strong." 

He  flushed. 

"And  I  earn  twenty-two  dollars  a  week,  Kirby. 
By  the  time  I'm  thirty-five  I  may  be  making 
enough  to  be  married  on." 

"You're  making  enough  now,"  she  retorted. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  A  light  leaped  into 
his  eye. 

"I  mean  that  I  am  ready  to  marry  you  at  any 
time,  Dick;  ready  to  share  whatever  you  may 
provide — in  honesty.  In  honesty!" 

"And  if  I  made  a  few  millions  out  of  this  — " 

"I  should  not  marry  you,"  she  said  slowly. 

Let  those  laugh  at  love  who  will.  It  works  its 
marvels  just  the  same.  For  Dixon  Grant,  an 
average  youth  of  average  morals,  put  behind  him 
the  chance  for  a  fortune  all  because  of  love. 
Let  those  who  work  for  twenty-two  dollars  a 
week  ask  themselves  if  they  can  blame  Dixon 


64  PLUNDER 

Grant  for  those  dreams  which  love  dispelled. 
For  love  did  dispel  them.  His  fingers  dropped 
the  crumbled  muffin. 

"I  guess,  Kirby,  that  if  you're  satisfied  with  an 
eleven-hundred-a-year  man  he  ought  to  be  satis- 
fied with  his  job." 

For  a  second  her  fingers  touched  his  and  her 
eyes  smiled  at  him. 

"I  knew,  Dick,  you  didn't  really  mean  it." 

"Don't  rate  me  too  highly,"  he  said  ruefully. 
"I  did  mean  it!  Think  of  those  three  thieves! 
What  they  have  is  theirs  by  right  of  might.  My 
right  is  as  great  as  theirs " 

"That  sounds  well,  Dick;  but  it  won't  stand  the 
acid,  and  you  know  it.  Stealing  from  a  thief  is 
stealing  just  the  same." 

He  sighed;  then  laughed  resignedly.  "Well,  I 
guess  it's  exit  Mr.  Dixon  Grant,  multimillionaire; 
enter  Dick  Grant,  clerk.  What  have  you  to  say 
to  him?" 

"Many  things — that  will  wait  a  more  suitable 
place,  Dick."  Her  eyes  shone  as  she  looked  at 
him.  "Other  things  that  must  be  said  now.  What 
are  you  going  to  do?" 


PLUNDER  65 

"Go  down  to  Masterman's  office,  hand  in  the 
paper,  and  maybe  accept  the  job  he'll  give  me," 
he  answered. 

"And  yet  you  sent  for  me — to  ask  my  advice?" 
"That  was  when  I  planned — hang  it  all,  Kirby, 
I  don't  suppose  I  really  intended  to  blackmail 
them!  I  only  knew  the  possession  of  the  paper 
was  dangerous;  that  I  might — well,"  flushing, 
"I  wanted  to  get  away  and  think;  with  you  to 
help  me.  I  was  rattled,  dazed!  Now,  what  is 
there  to  be  done?  The  paper  really  isn't  mine. 
If  I  can't  use  it  to  get  money  out  of  them  I  can't 
use  it  to  get  money  out  of  a  newspaper.  I  can't 
use  it  at  all.  I  might  as  well  return  it  to  Master- 
man  and  get  the  thing  over  with,  go  back  to  the 
office  to-morrow  and  take  up  my  job  again, 
and " 

"And  let  Masterman  and  the  others  go  ahead 
with  their  plans  to  scourge  the  country?" 

"What  can  I  do  to  stop  them?"  he  asked  bit- 
terly. 

"Is  there  anything  that  compels  you  to  return 
that  paper  to  them?" 

"But  I  can't  use  it  for  my  own  benefit." 


66  PLUNDER 

"How  about  a  greater  benefit  than  yours  or 
ours,  Dick?  How  about  a  benefit  to  the  coun- 
try?" 

"You  mean " 

Face  flushed,  eyes  sparkling,  she  looked  at 
him. 

"Dick,  to  try  to  acquire  benefit  for  yourself 
from  the  possession  of  this  paper  is  to  commit 
blackmail.  To  benefit  the  country  is  war !  This 
paper  shows  that  Masterman  and  his  crowd  are 
enemies  to  the  nation,  desirous  of  crushing  the 
people  into  the  ground.  Masterman  would  pay 
millions  to  you  to  get  that  paper  back,  for  it 
means  revolution,  Dick,  if  the  people  learn  of  its 
contents." 

He  didn't  quite  grasp  her  meaning. 

"You  mean  then  that  I  should  turn  it  over  to 
some  paper — without  pay,  of  course?" 

"No,  that  would  mean  revolution!  And  what 
would  revolution  gain  the  people?  Masterman 
and  his  crowd  would  be  ousted,  but  the  whole 
system  would  start  all  over  again,  plus  the  handi- 
cap which  revolution  always  imposes." 

He  shook  his  head. 


PLUNDER  67 

"Then  what?" 

"Organize  a  new  system!  You  saw  enough  to 
realize  that  whoever  put  that  paper  in  your  pocket 
would  do  murder  to  get  it  back.  But  the  Mas- 
terman  crowd  they,  too,  would  do  murder  and 
worse  to  get  that  paper  back !  Don't  you  see,  that 
as  long  as  they  can't  get  it  back,  as  long  as  it 
hangs  over  their  heads,  we  can  do  what  we  will 
with  them.  They're  our  servants,  Dick,  and 
we — we  are  the  servants  of  the  people." 

Again  his  fingers  toyed  with  the  crumbled 
muffin. 

"Make  war  on  Masterman  and  his  crowd?" 

"They  are  enemies,  avowed  enemies — this 
paper  proves  it — of  the  people.  Because  the  peo- 
ple would  go  insane  with  wrath  if  they  knew  of 
this  paper,  we  will  not  show  it  to  them.  But 
we  ourselves  will  declare  a  people's  war  upon 
Masterman  and  the  rest.  We  will  make  them 
return  what  they  have  stolen  from  the  public. 
We  can  do  it!" 

"King  Dick  and  Queen  Kirby,  eh?"  he  smiled. 
"How  long  do  you  suppose  we  could  get  away 
with  it?  A1  thousand  detectives  — — «" 


68  PLUNDER 

"You'd  have  risked  that  for  money,"  she 
countered. 

"I'll  risk  it  for  the  people,"  he  said,  flushing. 
"Only,  I  can't  have  you " 

"Who  will  know  ?  You  have  disappeared ;  we 
will  give  no  names;  no  one  will  know  who  we 
are." 

"We're  taking  a  lot  on  our  shoulders,  Kirby. 
Wiser  and  older  heads  might  counsel  - 

"We  don't  know  what  wiser  and  older  heads 
would  counsel,"  she  cried ;  "but  we  do  know  what 
we  can  do.  We  can  make  Masterman  return 
what  he  has  stolen.  After  all,  what  can  be  wiser 
than  justice  ?  And  that  is  all  we  shall  ask.  Dick, 
you  and  I  will  accomplish  what  revolutions  could 
not,  because  the  people  are  always  blinded  by 
false  leaders;  because,  too,  the  people  are  them- 
selves selfish,  with  each  out  for  himself  and  his 
own.  Where  Masterman  would  have  set  the 
World  back,  we  will  advance  it!" 

"All  with  this  little  paper,"  he  said— "if  it's 
genuine." 

"But  you  said  "     She  pushed  back  her 


PLUNDER  69 

chair  and  rose.  "Dick,  I'll  know  in  a  moment 
if  it's  genuine.  I'll  know!" 

She  made  for  a  telephone  booth  in  the  hall  out- 
side the  restaurant  entrance,  he  following  her, 
still  a  bit  overwhelmed  by  the  magnitude  of  the 
plan  she  proposed.  She  asked  for  Masterman's 
office.  The  telephone  girl  waved  her  to  a  booth. 
She  made  room  inside  for  Dick. 

"Mr.  Masterman  himself,  please,"  she  re- 
quested. "Busy?  Then  tell  him  it  has  to  do  with 
a  certain  paper  signed  by  him  and  two  other 
gentlemen."  She  gripped  Dick's  hand  with 
nervous  fingers.  There  was  a  moment  of  wait- 
ing, then:  "Mr.  Masterman?  You  lost  a  paper 
to-day  signed  by  yourself,  Mr.  Blaisdell  and  Mr. 
Cardigan.  You  know  to  what  I  refer?  Yes? 
Mr.  Masterman,  I  want  you  to  issue  universal 
transfers  for  the  city.  I  want  you  to  send  for  the 
reporters  at  once  and  announce  the  fact.  At 
once!  I  shall  expect  to  read  of  it  in  the  morn- 
ing papers.  You  understand  ?  I  have  that  paper. 
If  the  announcement  is  not  made,  and  if  its  pro- 
visions are  not  carried  into  effect  by  to-morrow 


7o  PLUNDER 

noon — you  may  guess  the  answer,  Mr.  Master- 
man." 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  with  one  hand  and 
with  the  other  pushed  Grant  before  her  from  the 
booth. 

"What  did  he  say?"  queried  Grant. 

"Pay  your  check — hurry,"  she  commanded. 
"Hurry!"  She  stamped  her  foot. 

Grant  stared,  but  only  for  a  second.  He  hur- 
ried into  the  dining-room  and  gave  the  waiter 
a  bill.  He  did  not  wait  for  his  change,  but  seized 
his  hat  from  the  chair  on  which  it  lay  and  came 
out  into  the  hall.  Kirby  was  not  there.  He 
looked  around,  bewildered. 

"Lady  went  outside,"  volunteered  the  tele- 
phone girl.  "Said  for  you  to " 

Her  instrument  engaged  her  attention  then,  and 
Grant  waited  for  no  more.  As  he  passed  through 
the  street  door  the  telephone  girl's  dull  eyes 
lighted.  She  rang  a  buzzer  and  in  a  moment  the 
house  detective  stood  before  her. 

"Well?" 

"Office  of  Martin  Masterman  wanted  young 
woman  trailed  She  just  left  here— blue  tailored 


PLUNDER  71 

suit,  hat  with  green  feather,  brown  hair,  gray 
eyes.     Better  hustle." 

The  house  detective  hustled,  marveling,  as  he 
did  so,  at  that  facility  for  description  of  another 
woman's  costume  possessed  by  all  women.  He 
hustled,  for  whatever  Martin  Masterman  wanted 
he  usually  got.  But  the  taxi-starter  informed  him 
that  the  couple  had  driven  off  "just  for  a  drive 
round,"  the  girl  had  said.  There  was  no  use  in 
pursuit;  they  might  have  gone  in  any  one  of  a 
hundred  directions  once  they  turned  the  corner. 
The  chauffeur  would  tell  later  where  he  dropped 
them.  So  the  house  detective  returned  to  the 
telephone,  where  he  called  up  the  Masterman 
offices  and  expressed  his  great  regret  that  he  had 
been  unable  to  serve  the  billionaire  who,  by  the 
way,  owned  in  fee  simple  the  site  of  the  restau- 
rant and,  therefore,  was  so  willingly  served  by 
its  employees.  And  Martin  Masterman,  learning 
of  the  detective's  failure — the  second  of  the  kind 
that  day,  for  it  had  already  been  reported  to  him 
that  the  Greenham  men  had  lost  Handsome  Harry 
• — stared  blankly  at  Blaisdell  and  Cardigan,  still 
with  him  in  the  private  office ! 


72  PLUNDER 

Meanwhile,  uncomprehending  but  knowing 
that  Miss  Kirby  Rowland  did  nothing  without 
very  good  reason,  Grant  had  stepped  into  the 
taxicab  in  which  the  girl  was  already  seated.  It 
had  started  immediately.  As  they  rounded  the 
first  corner  the  youth  looked  at  the  girl. 

"Well,  for  heaven's  sake,  Kirby,  what  was  the 
hurry?"  he  asked,  with  that  resentment  which 
comes  to  every  one  on  having  to  obey  unexplained 
instructions. 

"I  heard  Masterman  telling  some  one  to  find 
out  where  my  call  came  from,"  she  answered, 
"and  I'm  certain  the  hotel  people  would  have 
detained  us.  That  wouldn't  have  done." 

"Not  if  we're  going  ahead  with  our  people's 
war,"  he  answered. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"Dick,  we  are!  And  we've  won.  I  know  it, 
the  first  battle." 

"Did  he  say  he'd  do  it — about  the  transfers?" 

"He  begged  me  to  wait  a  moment,"  she 
answered.  "He  begged  me  to  come  down  and 
see  him.  But  I  rang  off.  Dick,  he'll  do  it !" 


PLUNDER  73 

"If  he  doesn't,  Your  Highness,  he'll  hear  from 
King  Dick  to-morrow." 

But  he  ceased  to  smile  as  he  noted  the  quiver 
of  her  lips. 

"Dick,  we're  doing  right;  I  know  we  are, 
b-but " 

She  had  brain  enough  to  conceive  and  inaugu- 
rate a  war  upon  the  most  powerful  combination 
of  capital  the  world  had  ever  known,  and  cour- 
age and  resolution  enough  not  to  be  deterred 
from  continuing  the  war,  but  she  was  a  woman, 
and  in  love.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as,  in 
the  shelter  of  the  taxicab,  Dick  drew  her  to  him. 

"I — I'm  afraid,"  she  confessed. 

So,  if  the  truth  were  told,  was  he,  a  little. 
Millions  of  money  have  awed  older  and  wiser 
men.  But  her  own  momentary  weakening 
strengthened  his  own  nerve.  Perhaps  that  was 
why  she  permitted  herself  to  show  weakness. 
Women  make  men  in  various  ways;  sometimes 
they  appeal  to  love,  and  other  times  to  pride.  But 
they  usually  know  just  exactly  what  they  are 
doing. 


74  PLUNDER 

"You  needn't  be,"  he  said.  "They'll  never  find 
us — not  until  we've  won!" 

"And  we  will — we  must!"  She  drew  away 
from  him  and  dabbed  at  her  eyes  with  a  very 
small  handkerchief.  "That's  over,"  she  an- 
nounced with  a  smile.  "Tell  the  chauffeur  to 
take  us  to  the  square." 

Grant  did  so  obediently.  They  alighted  a  lit- 
tle later  and  entered  the  subway. 

"If  we  should  be  followed — the  starter  might 
have  given  the  number  of  this  car.  Dick,  we 
might  be  located,  driving1  round." 

"You  think  of  everything,"  he  said  admiringly. 

"I  don't,"  she  said,  "but  I'm  going  to  try. 
Dick,  do  you  know  that  you  might  be  traced? 
The  man,  whoever  he  was,  who  put  that  paper 
in  your  pocket  may  look  you  up." 

"I've  thought  of  that.  I've  moved — at  least, 
I've  left  my  room." 

"But  you  mustn't  stay  in  the  city,"  she  urged. 
"The  Masterman  money  will  be  spent  in  search 
for  you.  Every  man  that  works  in  your  office 
may  be  hired  to  look  for  you,  because  they  know 
you." 


PLUNDER  75 

"But  Masterman  didn't  put  the  paper  in  my 
pocket,"  laughed  Dick.  "He  certainly  doesn't 
know  I  have  it." 

"But  he  may  find  it  out,"  persisted  the  girl. 
"Anyway,  too  many  people  in  this  city  know  you 
by  sight.  You  must  leave  the  city.  Dick,  your 
life  isn't  safe." 

Another  man  to  another  girl  might  have  replied 
soothingly,  and  laughed  at  the  danger.  But  Dixon 
Grant  knew  Kirby  Rowland ;  knew  her  to  be  one 
of  those  girls  with  whom  one  may  talk  as  with 
another  man;  who;  despite  momentary  lapses 
into  fear,  is  brave  and  resourceful  too.  Frank- 
ness, the  frankness  of  love  and  mutual  respect, 
is  the  only  way  to  deal  with  such  women. 

"I  know  that,  Kirby,"  he  said,  with  unwonted 
solemnity,  for  him.  "And  you — how  about  that 
telephone  girl?" 

"She  will  remember  my  clothes,  supposing  that! 
she  should  be  asked,"  smiled  the  girl.  "I'll  not 
wear  these  things  again,  and  my  hair  will  be 
dressed  differently.  She  will  never  know  me  if 
she  sees  me.  But  you — Dick,  where  is  your  suit- 
case?" 


;6  PLUNDER 

"At  the  terminal." 

"Go  there,  get  it  and  go  into  Jersey." 

"And  when  do  we  two  meet  again  ?"  he  smiled. 

"I'll  come  over  to  see  you,  and  plan,"  she 
answered. 

"Without  a  chaperon?"  he  chaffed. 

"Dick,  conventions  are  forgotten  in  war.  And 
this,  Dick,  this  is  war — for  the  people  against 
their  masters!" 

The  subway  train  in  which  they  rode  stopped 
and  they  alighted. 

"Don't  wait,"  she  ordered.  "Go  quickly. 
Some  one  might  get  off  the  trains,  some  one  who 
knew  you.  And,  Dick,  take  care  of  that  paper, 
won't  you?  Keep  it  safe.  If  you  should  lose 
it — Dick,  we  have  a  chance  given  to  few  in  this 
world  to  benefit  the  people.  We  mustn't  lose  it." 

"Do  you  want  to  keep  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me." 

He  took  the  paper  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  her.  She  folded  it  and  put  it  in  the  bottom 
of  her  hand-bag. 

"You  trust  me,  don't  you,  Dick?" 

"Your  Royal  Highness,  Queen  Kirby  the  First, 


PLUNDER  77 

I  love  you.  Is  that  enough?  And  where  will 
Your  Majesty  secrete  this  document  worth  a 
people's  ransom?" 

She  looked  at  him ;  her  eyes  crinkled. 

"The  Masterman  vaults  are  the  best  in  the 
world,  aren't  they?" 

He  stared. 

"Kirby,  you're  a  genius!" 

"I'm  a  woman,"  she  answered. 

"The  same  thing — in  your  case.  And  you'll 
take  it  there?" 

"Now!" 

He  lingered. 

"I  let  you  do  the  fighting,  while  I  run  away, 
eh?" 

"To  come  back  and  fight  another  day.  It's 
the  same  thing." 

"Then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  do  it — for  the  sake 
of  variety,"  he  laughed. 

A  south-bound  train  roared  into  the  station. 

"I'll  take  it,"  she  said  quickly.  "And,  Dick, 
please  get  out  of  the  city — now!  War  has  its 
dogs,  and  they're  unleashed  now.  Go,  will  you, 
please  ?" 


78  PLUNDER 

"The  minute  you're  aboard  that  train,"  he 
answered. 

That  minute  came  and  went;  he  watched  the 
lights  of  the  train  until  they  disappeared.  Then 
he  climbed  the  steps  from  the  subway  and 
boarded  an  open  car  bound  west.  At  Seventh 
Avenue  he  took  another  car  to  the  terminal. 
While  he  rode  he  wondered  how  this  war,  in 
which  he  was  so  suddenly  enlisted,  would  come 
out;  wondered,  shamefacedly,  how  it  was  that 
he,  a  son  of  people  who  had  worked  with  their 
hands  for  their  living1,  should  not  have  thought 
at  once  of  the  benefit  for  the  people  that  this 
strangely  found  document  held,  but  had  to  be 
reminded  of  them  by  Kirby  Rowland,  daughter 
of  cultured  ancestors  who  had  been  of  the  pro- 
fessional class,  who  was  herself  a  miniature 
painter  of  promise,  and  whose  every  association 
was  with  a  class  of  people  who  often  think,  if 
they  do  think  at  all,  only  with  tolerant  scorn  of 
the  submerged  nine-tenths.  Why  was  it  ?  It  was 
as  mysterious  as  that  other  question  of  why  Kirby 
Rowland,  able  to  choose  almost  where  she  willed, 


PLUNDER  79 

should  love  Dixon  Grant,  clerk  in  a  bucket-shop! 
He  was  still  puzzling  when  he  alighted  from  the 
surface  car  at  the  terminal.  .  .  . 

It  was  almost  closing  hour  at  the  Masterman 
vaults,  in  the  cellars  of  the  Masterman  Building, 
when  Kirby  Rowland  arrived  there.  But  a  pretty 
girl  has  privileges  beyond  other  people.  The 
Masterman  vaults  stayed  open  five  minutes 
beyond  their  ordinary  closing  time  in  order  that 
"Miss  Margaret  Blake"  might  be  assigned  a  box 
and  might  deposit  therein  certain  papers  of  value. 
She  did  so,  paid  a  quarter's  rent  and  left. 

The  elevated  deposited  her  at  her  destination 
half  an  hour  later.  A  few  minutes  afterward 
saw  her  in  her  little  Greenwich  Village  studio 
apartment.  Another  little  while,  and  she  was 
brewing  tea.  Still  a  little  later,  and  she  was 
seated  by  the  window,  overlooking  a  tiny  park, 
staring  into  the  waning  day,  a  teacup  on  her 
knee.  She  was  dreaming,  not  of  love  alone,  but 
of  how  complete  her  love  would  be  when  she  and 
Grant  had  carried  into  effect  their  plans,  as  yet 
inchoate,  along  lines  suggested  by  her  demand 


8o  PLUNDER 

of  a  short  time  before  upon  the  master  of  trans- 
portation. In  her  heart  burned  fires  greater  than 
those  of  patriotism — the  fires  of  love  for  her 
kind.  A  student  of  economics,  she  believed  with 
all  the  ardor  of  youth  that  civilization,  by  rea- 
son of  its  own  complexity,  had  failed  to  civilize, 
that  slavery  was  to-day  as  real  a  thing  as  ever 
in  the  feudal  ages.  Now  a  great  opportunity 
had  been  offered  her,  and  she  wondered,  fear- 
somely,  if  she  and  Grant  were  capable  of  using 
it.  Her  forehead  was  crisscrossed  with  wrinkles ; 
her  eyes  were  narrowed  and  unseeing  as  she 
looked  out  into  the  evening.  Then  a  knock  at 
her  studio  door  brought  her  back  to  the  pres- 
ent. 

She  opened  the  door.  A  man,  extremely 
good-looking,  and  groomed  with  a  care  that  made 
her  think  of  Piccadilly,  bowed  to  her. 

"Miss  Kirby  Rowland,  the  miniature  painter?" 

She  inclined  her  head. 

"My  name  is  Bray."  He  handed  her  a  card. 
She  read:  "Sir  Fitz-Roy  Eustace  Clavering 
Bray,  Allston,  Suffolk." 


"I  found  a  letter  from  you  on  his  body" 


PLUNDER  81 

"Well?" 

"I  came  to  see  you  about  a  mutual  friend,  Mr. 
Dixon  Grant.  May  I  come  in?" 

He  followed  her  into  the  room.  He  appraised 
the  furnishings  with  a  knowing  eye.  If  he 
noted  her  perturbation  he  hid  it  from  her. 

"You're  quite  a  friend  of  Mr.  Grant's,  are 
you  not?"  he  inquired. 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  found  a  letter  from  you  on  his  body,"  was 
the  reply. 

"On  his— his  body?     Has  he " 

"Killed,"  said  Sir  Fitz-Roy. 

She  put  out  a  hand  and  grasped  an  easel  on 
which  stood  a  landscape,  evidence  of  her  attempts 
at  other  than  miniature  painting.  The  piercing 
eyes  of  the  well-groomed  gentleman  read  the 
emotion  reflected  on  her  face. 

"K-killed,"   she  whispered.     "Oh,   not  that!" 

The  well-groomed  gentleman  sat  down  and 
crossed  his  legs. 

"No,  not  that,  Miss  Rowland,"  he  said.  "I 
just  wanted  to  be  sure  that  you  knew  him  pretty 


82  PLUNDER 

well  and  thought  a  lot  of  him.  I  know  now. 
Please  excuse  my  scaring  you.  Grant's  all  right, 
as  far  as  I  know.  Buck  up!  I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  I  want  to  know  if  he's  told  you  what 
he's  done  with  a  paper  I  put  in  his  pocket  this 
morning.  That's  all,  Miss  Rowland." 


VI 


OPPORTUNITY  had  knocked  at  the  door 
of  Handsome  Harry  Mack,  and  had 
passed  on.  He  had  been  perched  high  upon  the 
elevation  of  his  own  imaginings  and  his  fall  had 
been  tremendous.  The  disappearance  of  Dixon 
Grant  had  been  the  blow  to  toss  him  into  the 
abyss  of  despair.  But  he  had  the  elastic  nature 
possessed  by  every  high-class  crook,  and  the 
harder  he  fell  the  higher,  after  an  interval,  his 
spirits  rose.  For  obstacles  but  spurred  him  on, 
defeat  but  made  him  the  more  dangerous. 

At  first  he  was  overwhelmed  by  the  informa- 
tion given  him  by  the  slavey.  He  entered  a 
saloon,  prepared  to  drown  the  broken  hopes  of 
the  morning.  He  did  not  stop  to  reason  or  to 
plan,  but  he  had  the  temperament  upon  which 
liquor  acts  as  a  spur,  not  a  halter.  His  first 
drink  he  gulped,  his  second  he  sipped,  his  third 
he  carried  to  a  table  in  a  corner.  This  drink 

83 


84  PLUNDER 

he  did  not  touch  for  several  minutes,  and  in  the 
meantime  he  thought  hard. 

His  position  was  not  so  hopeless,  now  that  he 
began  to  think.  In  the  first  place,  young  Grant 
must  be  a  crook  like  himself.  Handsome  Harry 
did  not,  of  course,  refer  to  himself  as  a  crook; 
he  merely  stated,  mentally,  that  the  young  book- 
keeper must  be  "out  for  himself,  like  me."  It 
is  by  equivocation  that  conscience  is  soothed, 
'And  what  would  a  person  "out  for  himself"  do 
upon  discovery  of  such  a  valuable  document  as 
the  paper  signed  by  the  millionaires? 

Certainly,  if  he  intended  to  deliver  it  to  its 
signers  he  would  not  steal  swiftly  away  from  his 
lodgings,  leaving  no  address.  If  he  proposed 
selling  it  to  some  newspaper  there  would  be  no 
need  for  him  to  disappear.  He  would  need  to 
hide  himself  only  if  he  purposed  doing  what 
Handsome  Harry  himself  had  intended  doing, 
and  so  dreaded  the  very  men  he  intended  to 
mulct. 

And  the  mulcting  would  take  time!  Not  very 
long,  but  quite  a  while!  There  would  be  the 
preliminary  demand,  the  negotiations.  Hand 


PLUNDER  85 

some  Harry  lifted  his  third  drink.  Into  his  eyes 
flashed  that  avid  gleam  that  had  been  absent 
since  certainty  of  Grant's  reading  of  the  docu- 
ment had  come  to  him.  He  seemed  to  be  drink- 
ing a  toast  to  himself. 

"If  I  can't  locate  him  before  he  gets  to  Mas- 
terman,  then  I'll  take  back  all  I've  ever  said  about 
detectives.  Their  jobs  are  harder  than  they 
look." 

He  set  the  glass  down  empty.  Then  he  left 
the  saloon  and  retraced  his  steps  to  the  lodging 
house.  For  his  search  was  to  begin  again  where 
it  had  left  off,  and  was  to  start  with  obedience 
to  that  old  and  wise  command:  "Find  the 
woman." 

The  slavey  looked  surprised  at  the  reappear- 
ance of  Handsome  Harry. 

"I  want  to  see  your  mistress,"  said  the  inter- 
national crook. 

"She  don't  know  where  Mr.  Grant  went,  but 
I'll  get  her  just  the  same,"  she  added  delightedly, 
as  her  palm  came  in  contact  with  a  bill. 

"You  came  a  little  while  ago  asking  for  Mr. 
Grant,  didn't  you?"  inquired  the  landlady,  ,a 


86  PLUNDER 

moment  later.  "Well,  I  can't  tell  you  where  he 
went;  he  didn't  tell  me.  He  left  in  an  awful 
rush,  just  like  the  police  was  after  him.  If  it 
hadn't  been  that  he'd  always  paid  up  regular 
every  Saturday  night,  and  never  caused  any 
trouble,  not  being  the  drinking  kind,  I'd  'a* 
thought  he'd  done  something  and  was  doing  a 
Dutch.  What  you  want  him  for?" 

Handsome  Harry  shoved  back  his  coat  lapel. 
The  landlady  caught  a  glimpse  of  silver. 

"You  ain't  a  bull?"  she  gasped.  "What's  Mr. 
Grant  been  doing?  It  ain't  going  to  get  in  the 
papers,  is  it,  about  him  rooming  with  me,  and 
give  my  house  a  bad  name?  Lord  knows,  it's 
hard  enough  for  a  decent  woman  to  get  lodgers, 
without  the  papers  having  it  that  she  runs  a  house 
for  crooks!" 

"The  papers  will  print  nothing  about  this," 
Handsome  Harry  assured  her.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it's  something  that's  got  to  be  kept  out  of 
the  papers.  Too  big  a  matter,  madam.  You 
understand,  of  course." 

He  smiled  meaningly.  The  landlady  hadn't 
the  slightest  idea  what  he  was  driving  at,  but 


PLUNDER  87 

she  nodded  emphatically.  Here  was  mystery,  and 
she  was  keen  for  mystery. 

"And  just  to  think  of  Mr.  Grant  being  so  meek 
and  mild  and  pleasant,  and  regular  as  clock  work 
with  the  rent,  when  all  the  time  he  was  robbing 
and  murdering!"  She  shivered  delightedly. 
"He  ain't  murdered  any  one,  has  he?" 

"Not  yet,"  said  Handsome  Harry  porten- 
tously. "That's  why  I've  got  to  get  on  his  trail. 
You  can't  tell  what  he  will  do." 

"Them  quiet  kind  is  desperate,  ain't  they?" 
said  the  landlady.  "My  first  husband  was  like 
that.  All  week  he  was  like  a  mouse,  but  come 
Saturday  night  and  the  pay  envelope,  and,  mister, 
you  couldn't  tell  him  from  a  threshing  machine 
after  his  second  drink.  Desperate?  He'd  bat 
a  bull  over  the  chops  quick's  he'd  look  at  him, 
come  Saturday  night.  You  never  can  tell!" 

"Right,"  agreed  Handsome  Harry.  "And 
now — do  you  know  anything  about  Grant? 
Where  he'd  be  liable  to  go?  Who  his  friends 
are?" 

She  lifted  her  hands  above  her  head. 

"Honest,  mister,  I  don't.     I  never  butt  into 


88  PLUNDER 

my  lodgers'  private  affairs.  If  I'd  known  Mr. 
Grant  was  a  crook — what'd  you  say  he  did,  any- 
way?" 

"I'll  let  you  know  later,  maybe,"  said  Harry. 
"At  present  I'm  trusting  you  a  whole  lot  in  let- 
ting you  know  he's  wanted." 

"I'm  a  clam,"  said  the  landlady  quickly.  "Not 
a  word  outa  me;  but  I  don't  know  any  of  his 
friends  at  all." 

"He  left  his  trunk?    Let  me  see  it." 

Her  eyebrows  raised. 

"It's  locked.  You  wouldn't  open  it  without  a 
warrant,  would  you?  And  if  I  let  you  I'd  be 
liable " 

Handsome  Harry  drew  a  roll  of  bills  from 
his  pockets.  He  stripped  off  two  of  them. 

"Will  that  be  enough?  Mind,  Grant  will 
never  come  back  and  start  anything,  but  " 

"I'd  do  most  anything  for  a  couple  of  these," 
said  the  landlady.  "Come  along." 

Harry  followed  her  to  a  hall  bedroom  on 
the  second  floor,  whence  the  trunk  of  Grant  had 
not  yet  been  removed  to  the  cellar  for  storage 
until  he  sent  for  it.  It  took  the  crook  just  two 


PLUNDER  89 

minutes  to  open  the  trunk;  it  took  him  little 
longer  to  discover  that  there  was  in  it  not  a 
scrap  of  paper,  not  a  picture,  not  a  single  thing 
that  would  tell  who  were  the  friends  of  Dixon 
Grant.  The  clerk  either  had  no  friends  who 
wrote  to  him,  or  he  destroyed  their  letters. 

Handsome  Harry  arose  from  the  trunk. 

"Nothing  here,"  he  said  gloomily.  "And  you 
never  heard  him  say  anything  about  any  sweet- 
heart, any  intimate  friends?  Nothing  like  that?" 

"He  never  talked  about  himself  at  all,"  was 
the  reply.  "He  had  friends  all  right,  for  he 
went  out  quite  often  at  night,  but  he  never 
mentioned  them.  And  he  wasn't  only  on  bow- 
ing terms  with  the  people  in  the  house.  Kept 
apart  from  them.  I  don't  know  a  thing  about 
him." 

"Never  saw  the  address  on  any  letter  he 
wrote  or  received?" 

The  landlady  colored. 

"Would  I  be  apt  to  look,  mister?" 

But  the  maid  who,  unrebuked,  had  followed 
them  to  the  hall  room,  could  contain  herself 
no  longer;  also,  she  had  no  false  shame.  What- 


9d  PLUNDER 

ever  she  did  she  was  willing  to  admit  she  did, 
especially  to  a  gentleman  that  handed  out  five- 
dollar  bills  to  a  servant  and  fifties  to  her  mis- 
tress. 

"I  seen  a  letter  to  him,"  she  announced.  "He 
forgot  it  one  morning.  It  was  on  his  bureau. 
I  hadn't  read  it  all  when  he  come  back  and 
bawled  me  out  sump'n  awful,  but  I  seen  the 
name  and  address.  It  was  from  somebody 
what  signed  herself  Kirby  and  lived  in  thcs 
Greenwich  Studios." 

"A  man,"  said  Harry  thoughtfully. 

"She  began  it  'My  dearest  Dick,'  "  said  the 
slavey. 

"A  girl,"  said  Handsome  Harry.  He  strip- 
ped another  bill  from  his  roll,  and  the  maid 
gasped  with  delight. 

Handsome  Harry  hardly  heard  the  gasp, 
for  he  was  running  down-stairs.  It  was  char- 
acteristic of  him  that  in  his  excitement  he  did 
not  forget  to  reward  the  maid.  Like  nearly 
all  crooks,  he  was  generous.  Easy  come,  easy 
go.  Two  women,  the  richer  by  one  hundred 
and  fifty-five  dollars  for  his  call,  stared  blankly 


PLUNDER  91 

at  each  other.  It  was  a  long  time  before  they 
got  their  breath.  Then  the  mistress  spoke. 

"The  first  thing  I  do,  Mamie,"  she  said  earn- 
estly, "is  to  get  me  that  tailored  blouse  for 
twenty-two-fifty  I  saw  at  Lacy's." 

"And  the  first  thing  I  do,  Missus  Kimball,  is 
to  get  me  a  pair  of  new  garters,"  said  the  slavey. 
"These  ones  I  has  is  all  wore  out,  and  believe 
me,  I  ain't  trustin'  fifty-five  in  bills  to  them! 
No,  ma'am!" 

Then,  fairly  started  and  limbered  up,  their 
voices  beat  against  the  air  like  hail  upon  the 
window-panes.  About  this  time  Handsome 
Harry,  having  learned  Kirby's  last  name  by  a 
glance  at  the  cards  above  the  letter  boxes  on 
the  ground  floor  of  the  Greenwich  Studios,  and 
having  learned  her  professional  specialty  by 
asking  the  elevator  boy,  entered  the  young 
woman's  apartment,  and,  by  his  lightning  as- 
sault, learned  at  once  that  she  was,  if  not  in 
love  with  Dixon  Grant,  at  least  a  dear  enough 
friend  to  justify  him  in  having  followed  the 
maxim  "Find  the  woman." 

Reassured  that   Grant  was   not  really  dead, 


92  PLUNDER 

Kirby  sank  into  a  chair;  the  color  came  back  to 
her  cheeks;  her  eyes,  that  had  been  staring,  now 
narrowed.  She  surveyed  Handsome  Harry  as 
though  he  were  some  subject  for  her  deft 
brushes.  She  was  a  real  artist,  which  means 
that  she  did  more  than  transfer  to  ivory  fea- 
tures and  coloring;  she  transferred  character  as 
well.  She  had  that  ability  to  read  souls  inval- 
uable to  those  who  live  by  their  brains.  For  of 
these  is  the  artist.  It  is  his  brain,  more  than 
his  cunning  hand,  that  lifts  him  to  fame.  And 
she  read  the  character  of  Handsome  Harry  in 
that  swift  glance  from  under  lowered  lids  that 
she  bestowed  on  him  before  he  spoke  again. 
She  read  his  dishonesty,  the  cruelty  latent  be- 
neath the  impulsive  generosity,  the  craft  behind 
the  frank  countenance,  so  good-looking  in  an  ani- 
mal way.  And  she  did  not  fear  him. 

"Well,  recovered?  Sorry  I  had  to  shock  you, 
but  you  can  guess  why,  Miss  Rowland.  Now, 
then,  let's  not  waste  any  time.  Where  is  Grant  ?" 

"Not  admitting  your  right  to  question  me," 
she  answered,  "I  do  not  know  where  he  is." 

"And  the  fact  that  you  don't  order  me  out 


PLUNDER  93 

of  here  proves  that  you  know  all  about  the 
paper  I  put  in  his  pocket,"  said  Harry  shrewdly. 

"And  if  I  do?"  Her  hand  strayed  to  a  flat 
desk  by  the  chair  into  which  she  had  sunk,  and 
toyed  with  a  silver  paper-knife. 

"Why,  then  you  don't  dare  order  me  out," 
was  Harry's  reply. 

She  realized  that  Handsome  Harry  had  been 
drinking  heavily;  but  whether  he  had  drunk 
enough  to  be  on  the  verge  of  sudden  intoxica- 
tion or  not  she  did  not  know.  She  knew  that 
anger  sometimes  hastens  the  effect  of  liquor, 
and  did  not  wish  to  anger  him  more  than  would 
be  necessary,  for  there  were  a  hundred  reasons 
why  this  erstwhile  possessor  of  the  document 
whereby  she  was  to  reconstruct  civilization 
should  not  go  to  pieces  in  her  studio.  She  did 
not  know  yet  that  liquor's  only  effect  on  Hand- 
some Harry  was  to  render  him  more  crafty, 
more  cruel,  more  dangerous  than  in  his  normal 
condition. 

He  watched  her  face,  and,  somewhat  of  a 
character  reader  himself,  knew  that  he  had  no 
mean  opponent  to  deal  with. 


94  PLUNDER 

"What's  Grant  going  to  do  with  that  paper?" 
he  demanded.  That  she  knew  of  Grant's  inten- 
tions he  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment. 

"What  did  you  intend  to  do  with  it?"  she 
countered. 

"Sell  it  for  a  million  dollars,"  he  answered 
frankly.  "I  found  it;  I  had  to  slip  it  into  his 
pocket  because  I  was  due  to  stand  a  pinch."  He 
had  dropped  all  pretense  of  titled  culture  now. 
"I  put  it  in  the  handiest  place,  thinking  I'd  get 
it  back  O.  K.  I  didn't.  Grant  has  it.  But"— 
and  his  voice  was  hard — "I  don't  intend  Grant 
or  any  one  else  to  slip  in  ahead  of  me.  I'll 
divide;  I'm  no  piker;  I'll  play  fair  and  square. 
But  I  want  that  paper!" 

"You  stole  it?" 

"It  came  into  my  hands  by  accident.  It  left 
my  hands  by  hard  luck.  But  it  takes  more  than 
hard  luck  to  put  me  out  of  business.  I've  found 
out  where  Grant's  best  friend  lives;  it  won't  be 
hard  for  me  to  find  out  where  Grant  himself 
is.  And  if  I  have  to  find  out  without  help  I'll 
get  it  all,  I  won't  divide." 

"Are  you  sure  there'd  be  anything  to  divide?" 


PLUNDER  95 

"Masterman  offered  me  a  million  for  it,"  he 
snapped. 

Her  eyes  flashed  at  this  further  proof  of  the 
paper's  value,  though  none  was  needed.  He 
saw  the  gleam  and  mistook  it  for  greed. 

"You  want  to  be  fair,"  he  said.  "If  it  wasn't 
for  me  Grant  and  you  wouldn't  have  had  a 
chance  at  it.  You  don't  want  to  make  an  enemy 
of  me.  Besides,  I'm  not  a  new  hand  at  this 
game;  you  might  get  rattled  and  caught.  I  can 
handle  it  like  an  ordinary  business  deal.  And 
I'll  be  fair.  Suppose  you  get  hold  of  Grant 
now  and  we  all  have  a  little  dinner  together? 
We'll  talk  it  over  and " 

"I  don't  know  where  Grant  is,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "And  if  I  did,  I  would  not  tell  you." 

"You  mean  you're  not  going  to  let  me  in  on 
it?" 

"Exactly,"  she  smiled. 

He  stared  at  her. 

"My  life,  Miss  Rowland,  is  worth  a  mil- 
lion dollars  to  me  or  it  isn't  worth  a  cent.  No, 
I'll  correct  that — half  a  million  dollars.  For 
half  a  million  dollars  I'll  do  anything.  I'll  risk 


96  PLUNDER 

my  life;  for  that  money  I'll  go  to  the  chair. 
Understand  what  I  mean?" 

"You'd  commit  murder  for  that  paper?" 

"For  half  its  value,"  he  replied.  "Get  Grant 
to  take  me  in,  and  everything  will  be  fine.  Leave 
me  out,  and  I  tell  you,  Miss  Rowland,  I'll  go  to 
the  chair  for  one  or  both  of  you.  I  mean  it." 

"But  supposing  that  we  plan  to  make  no  profit  ? 
Supposing  that  we  plan  to  use  the  paper  for  the 
benefit  of  the  people?  Doesn't  that  appeal  to 
you?  Wouldn't  you  care  to  come  in  with  us?" 

"Suppose  Mars  is  inhabited;  what  of  it? 
Let's  not  talk  moonshine.  Do  you  or  don't  you 
intend  to  tell  me  where  Grant  is,  or  have  him 
meet  me  and  declare  me  in?" 

"I  do  not,"  she  answered. 

For  a  moment  it  looked  as  though  he  would 
spring. 

"I  could  scream — once  anyway — before  you 
stopped  me,"  she  answered. 

He  relaxed.  "There  are  more  ways  than  one 
of  killing,  Miss  Rowland,"  he  said  grimly.  "Put 
up  the  paper-knife;  you  don't  need  it.  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  something.  I'm  known  as  Harry 


PLUNDER  97 

Mack  to  the  police.  I've  never  killed  any  one 
yet,  because  it's  not  been  worth  my  while.  It 
is  worth  my  while  now.  You  probably  think  I 
can't  find  Grant,  but  I  will.  And  there'll  be 
no  further  chance  to  dicker.  I'll  have  that  paper 
from  him,  and  grab  it  all.  Or  if  he's  sold  the 
paper  to  Masterman,  I'll  do  no  bargaining.  As 
surely  as  I  am  sitting  here  with  you  I'll  kill 
him,  if  I  wait  ten  years.  It  won't  be  a  case  of 
give  me  my  share  and  we'll  call  it  square.  I'll 
kill  him.  Now — am  I  in  with  you  or  not?" 

He  had  not  raised  his  voice;  he  was  calm  as 
though  he  were  indeed  Sir  Fitz-Roy,  discussing 
some  ordinary  topic  with  a  lady.  His  very 
repression  lent  earnestness  to  his  words.  He 
meant  what  he  said,  there  was  not  the  slightest 
doubt  of  that.  Furthermore,  he  would  do  as  he 
said,  if  possible.  Another  risk  must  be  borne  by 
the  man  that  Kirby  loved;  a  greater  risk  than 
those  already  invited,  because  the  man  who 
threatened  knew  Grant's  identity  which,  as  yet, 
the  millionaires  did  not  know.  Yet  the  girl  ac- 
cepted it. 

"You  are  not,"  she  said. 


98  PLUNDER 

Mack  rose,  and  with  a  return  of  his  borrowed 
identity  bowed  to  her.  Then  very  quietly  he 
left  the  apartment.  She  rose  and  walked  to  the 
window;  she  watched  him  cross  the  street  and 
turn  a  corner.  She  turned  back  to  the  center 
of  the  room.  Suddenly  she  felt  herself  shaking. 

"Oh,  God,"  she  said  softly;  "it  is  for  Your 
people;  give  me  strength." 


VII 

BLAISDELL  bit  his  nails;  Cardigan  tore 
viciously  at  scraps  of  paper,  littering  the 
floor;  only  Masterman  preserved  the  appearance 
of  calm.  But  even  his  voice  shook. 

"Well,  what  have  you  done,  Greenham?" 

Terence  Greenham,  junior  partner  in  the 
detective  agency,  and  the  real  brains  of  the  firm, 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Little  as  yet,  Mr.  Masterman.  But  our  men 
will  soon  pick  up  Mack  again,  and  then " 

"And  he  no  longer  has  the  paper  I  told  you 
to  get,"  thundered  Masterman.  "I  told  you 
that  paper  meant  millions!  And  your  men  let 
Mack  slip  away  from  them!  And  now  some 
one  else  has  it.  I'm  ordered  to " 

He  sat  down  and  wiped  his  forehead.  When 
he  spoke  again  he  was  a  little  calmer. 

"I  need  not  tell  you  the  contents  of  that  paper, 
Greenham.  If  you  or  any  of  your  men  recover 

99 


ioo  PLUNDER 

it  you  will  know  at  once  that  it  is  the  docu- 
ment I  want.  Further,  you  will  be  paid  well  for 
forgetting  its  contents.  Sufficient  now  to  tell 
you  that  it  is  a  document  whose  publication 
would  not  only  ruin  us  three  in  the  room,  but 
cost  us,  possibly,  our  lives.  It  must  be  recov- 
ered!" 

"It  will,"  began  Greenham  eagerly.  "My 
men  can't  be  fooled  long  by  any  crook  that  - 

Masterman's  stony  face  frowned  the  detec- 
tive into  silence. 

"I've  told  you  that  Mack  hasn't  it  any  longer. 
Just  now  I  was  telephoned  to  by  a  woman.  I 
learned  that  she  is  young,  pretty,  wore  a  blue 
tailored  suit,  hat  with  green  feather,  has  brown 
hair  and  gray  eyes.  The  telephone  operator  at 
the  Disnore  gave  me  that  information.  The 
Disnore  house  detective  failed  to  capture  her. 
She  informed  me  that  she  had  possession  of  that 
paper." 

"A  pal  of  Mack's,"  said  Greenham. 

"Let  me  finish,"  roared  Masterman.  The 
detective  flushed.  The  master  of  transportation 
swallowed  a  little  water  from  a  glass  on  his  desk. 


PLUNDER  101 

"This  woman  is  not  a  pal  of  Mack's.  This  is 
proved  by  the  fact  that  I  had  offered  Mack  a 
million  dollars  for  the  return  of  that  paper.  I 
wish  now  I'd  kept  my  faith  with  him  and  not 
let  those  fools  in  your  employ  follow  him!  This 
woman  is  not  after  money — for  herself.  She 
asks  a  price  greater  than  a  million.  She  asks — 
she  orders — that  universal  transfers  be  granted 
in  this  city.  Universal  transfers !  Do  you  realize 
what  that  means?  It  means  the  ruin  of  every 

road  in  the  city.    It  means And  Greenham, 

I  can't  refuse  her !" 

Terence  Greenham  was  absolutely  trust- 
worthy. But  even  if  he  hadn't  been  it  would 
have  been  necessary  for  Masterman  to  tell  him 
of  Kirby's  demands,  for  in  no  other  way  could 
the  gravity  of  the  situation  be  impressed  upon 
the  detective.  For  Greenham,  thanks  to  Master- 
man,  was  by  way  of  being  a  rich  man  himself; 
his  sympathies  lay  with  the  rich.  He  could  under- 
stand the  dire  consequences  of  permitting  to 
remain  free  a  force  that  could  dictate  the  policy 
of  the  transportation  lines  of  New  York.  The 
detective  asked  one  question: 


102  PLUNDER 

"And  the  orders  of  this  woman,  will  they  be 
confined  to  transportation  in  this  city?" 

"They  will  be  confined,"  said  Masterman 
slowly,  "to  what  organizations  are  controlled, 
directly  or  indirectly,  by  myself  and  my  associ- 
ates." 

"And  that  means "  Greenham  was  aghast. 

"That  until  that  paper  is  recovered  that 
woman  is  absolute  master  of  this  country.  And 
a  master  for  evil!  A  woman  anarchist!  One 
who  will  destroy,  wipe  out!  Greenham,  she 
must  be  found!  That  she  is  no  friend  to  this 
Mack  is  shown  by  her  demands.  He  wanted 
wealth  for  himself;  she — there's  no  knowing 
what  she  wants!  But  whatever  it  is,  she  must 
have  it!  Greenham,  what  are  you  going  to  do? 
She  must  be  found  before  midnight!" 

Terence  Greenham  had  executed  many  orders 
for  Masterman;  orders  that  involved  millions. 
But  the  present  situation,  as  he  readily  saw,  in- 
volved still  more.  It  staggered  him. 

"Before  midnight?  But,  Mr.  Masterman,  I 
don't  even  know  her  name.  You  don't.  A  gen- 
eral description — that  might  fit  a  thousand  worn- 


PLUNDER  103 

en — and  you  know  nothing?  You  have  no  clue 
as  to  how  she  got  the  paper?" 

There  was  a  silence.  Masterman  looked  at 
Cardigan,  at  Blaisdell,  but  they  were  helpless, 
bereft  of  ideas,  able  to  think  only  of  the  peril 
that  confronted  them :  Blaisdell  thinking  of  his 
life,  Cardigan  of  his  wealth.  Masterman 
shrugged  his  shoulders;  he  lifted  a  face  deeply 
lined. 

"I  know  nothing  about  her,"  he  said.  "That 
she  is  the  friend  to  whom  Mack  referred  I  can 
not  believe,  for  her  demands  are  so  different. 
That  she  is  the  person  whom  he  tried  to  reach 

by  telephone "  He  stopped.  More  than  a 

great  executive  was  Martin  Masterman.  He  had 
that  insight  into  the  brains  of  men  that  made 
him  able  to  anticipate  and  forestall  their  best- 
laid  plans.  A  greater  detective  than  a  dozen 
Greenhams  rolled  into  one  he  might  have  been. 
His  eyes  lighted. 

"Your  men  called  up  the  numbers  Mack  asked 
for,  didn't  they?  And  learned  nothing.  Yet  he 
wasn't  telephoning  for  mere  pleasure.  He  had  a 
reason!  And  after  one  of  those  calls  he  evaded 


104  PLUNDER 

your  men.  Why?  Because  he  had  learned  what 
he  wished,  Greenham!"  In  his  excitement  he 
rose  now  and  paced  the  office  floor.  "Don't  you 
see?  Because  he  had  learned  what  he  wished! 
Because  he  called  two  numbers,  and  the  fools 
who  work  for  you  asked  but  for  one!  It's  what 
I  would  have  done,  and  this  Mack,  he's  as  clever 
as  I!"  A  great  admission  for  the  mighty  Mar- 
tin Masterman  to  make.  "Am  I  right?" 

The  reports  of  his  detectives  were  fresh  in 
Greenham's  mind.  He  saw  how  simple  a  trick, 
yet  so  clever,  might  have  deceived  his  men.  He 
picked  up  the  telephone,  and  was  immediately 
connected  with  the  superintendent  of  the  tele- 
phone company. 

"Terence  Greenham  talking,  from  Martin 
Masterman's  office,  on  the  latter's  business.  I 

want  "  He  spoke  for  two  minutes;  then 

he  was  silent,  holding  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  A 
moment  later  his  rigidity  told  that  he  was  listen- 
ing. 

"Yes,  any  one  of  the  calls.  Broad  69,000? 
And  that  is?  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company. 
Much  obliged." 


PLUNDER  105 

He  hung1  up  and  sat  still  a  moment.  Shamed 
that  the  master  of  transportation  had  seen 
through  Mack's  trick,  Greenham  worked  his  own 
brain  to  its  utmost.  Like  nearly  every  other  de- 
tective, fiction  to  the  contrary,  Greenham  lacked 
imagination  to  any  remarkable  degree.  He  dis- 
covered the  perpetrators  of  crime  by  questioning 
stool-pigeons  in  the  majority  of  cases.  He  fol- 
lowed old  and  routine  paths.  But  it  was  his 
painstaking  covering  of  every  lead  that  brought 
him  results.  His  mind  responded  to  the  pres- 
sure of  the  moment  and  he  thought  of  a  lead 
as  yet  unfollowed.  He  leaned  toward  the  trans- 
mitter again.  He  asked  for  a  number. 

"Police  Headquarters.  Give  me  the  commis- 
sioner. Terence  Greenham  talking.  .  .  .  Com- 
missioner Murray?  Terence  Greenham.  I  want 
to  speak  with  Detective  Connors.  Important. 
.  .  .  Connors?  This  is  Terence  Greenham.  You 
pulled  a  man  to-day.  The  Masterman  man.  .  .  , 
Where?  Bryant,  Manners  &  Company?  All 
right.  And  see  that  your  lips  are  sewed. 
Thanks." 

He  rang  off  and  turned  to  Masterman. 


io6  PLUNDER 

"Mack  was  out  of  sight  of  all  three  of  you  for 
a  minute  to-day,"  he  said.  "Connors  told  me 
what  you  didn't  ask  him — that  he  pulled  Mack  in 
Bryant-Manners'  office.  Yet  he  couldn't  have 
been  in  there  more  than  a  minute.  You  had  him 
under  your  eyes  for  all  but  a  minute  or  so." 

A  gleam  of  hope  shone  in  Masterman's  eyes. 
"You  think  then ?" 

Greenham  pulled  his  watch  from  his  pocket. 

"It's  five  now.  I  don't  know  when  I'll  have 
anything  to  report.  Mr.  Masterman,  you'll  be 
at  home  all  this  evening?" 

"I'll  be  waiting  up  to  hear  from  you,"  replied 
Masterman  grimly.  "And  Blaisdell  and  Cardi- 
gan will  be  with  me." 

The  others  kept  silence;  the  hours  of  strain 
had  been  too  much  for  them.  They  could  only 
sit  dully  by,  not  fully  comprehending,  while  the 
'detective  and  Masterman  talked. 

Greenham  reached  the  door. 

"If  it  was  any  one  in  the  Bryant-Manners' 
office— I'll  get  him." 

"Her,"  corrected  Masterman.  "And  this  is 
something  extra,  Greenham.  The  usual  retainer 


PLUNDER  107 

doesn't  apply.  If  you  land  that  woman  by  mid- 
night, ask  for  what  you  want;  I'll  give  you  a 
blank  check — I'll  give  you " 

"And  you'll  stand  behind  any  measures  I  take 
to  get  the  paper?" 

For  a  minute  the  master  of  transportation 
looked  into  the  detective's  eyes. 

"You  get  that  paper,"  he  said.  And  Green- 
ham  thought  he  understood. 

He  left  the  office.  Two  minutes  later,  accom- 
panied by  his  brother  Robert,  and  trailed  by  half 
a  dozen  operatives,  he  entered  the  bucket-shop. 
The  junior  member  of  the  detective  agency  knew 
what  he  wanted ;  a  lead  like  this  was  simple.  To 
Mr.  James  Manners  he  gave  a  description  of 
Handsome  Harry  Mack,  which  Masterman  had 
given  him, 

"Sir  Fitz-Roy  Bray,  of  England,"  said  Man- 
ners nervously.  "Surely,  Mr.  Greenham,  you 
have  nothing  derogatory  to  tell  me  of  Sir  Fitz- 
Roy?" 

"Nothing  except  to  tell  you  that  he's  Harry 
Mack,  classiest  gun  in  the  con  game,  Manners," 
responded  Greenham.  "Better  look  up  your 


log  PLUNDER 

dealings  with  him.  But  never  mind  that  now. 
Has  he  any  particular  friend  here?  Did  he  tele- 
phone any  one  here  to-day?" 

Manners,  unnerved  by  the  information  that 
his  most  exalted  client  was  a  swindler  of  parts, 
and  feverish  with  anxiety  to  examine  his  books 
to  learn  whether  or  not  anything  had  been  put 
over  on  him  already,  yet  not  daring  to  offend 
the  brothers  Greenham,  who  might,  if  they  so 
chose,  investigate  his  business  with  disastrous 
results  for  the  owners,  summoned  the  telephone 
clerk. 

"Sir  Fitz-Roy?  Sure,  he  asked  for  Dixon 
Grant,  and  when  Grant  wasn't  in  he  asked  for 
his  address.  I  gave  it  to  him,  and " 

"What  is  the  address?"  interrupted  Terence 
Greenham. 

The  clerk  supplied  it. 

"That's  all,  Manners,"  said  the  detective,  "ex- 
cept to  keep  quiet  about  our  little  call.  And  if 
this  man  Grant  shows  up  in  the  morning  and 
you  haven't  heard  from  us,  let  my  office  know. 
You  say  he  never  took  an  afternoon  off  before 
without  permission?" 


PLUNDER  109 

"And  never  will  again,"  said  Manners.  "Chums 
of  crooks " 

"Couldn't  be  very  chummy  if  Mack  didn't 
even  know  his  home  address,"  said  Greenham 
the  younger.  Then,  fearful  that  he  had  said  too 
much,  or  at  least  violated  the  proverbial  resem- 
blance to  a  clam  of  the  species  detective,  he  left 
the  office  with  his  brother.  Outside  he  gave  that 
less  brilliant  worthy  his  ideas. 

"Mack  saw  Connors  after  picking  up  that 
paper.  '  He  ducked  in  here  and  gave  it  to  Grant. 
Grant  double-crossed  him  and  Mack  went  after 
him ;  that's  why  he  asked  for  the  address.  Mean- 
while, Grant  has  either  slipped  the  paper  to  some 
girl  or  told  her  all  about  it.  That's  plain  as  Bill 
Taft's  smile.  I'll  get  up  to  Twenty-third  Street 
and  find  out  what  girls  young  Grant  knows. 
Cinch  that  he  isn't  there;  if  he's  clever  enough 
to  double-cross  Mack,  he's  clever  enough  to  have 
lighted  out.  But  the  girl  is  the  trail  he  leaves. 
Robert,  you  take  a  few  men  and  go  up  to  Mack's 
hotel  on  the  off  chance  he'll  turn  up  there.  He's 
valuable  to  us  yet,  never  mind  what  Masterman 
says." 


no  PLUNDER 

He  turned  and  signaled  one  of  the  operatives, 
who  discreetly  followed  them. 

"Schmidt,  you  come  with  me.'*  He  spoke 
again  to  his  brother.  "Forgot  something.  Find 
out  where  Mack — or  Sir  Fitz-Roy — banks.  De- 
tail a  man  to  be  there  in  the  morning.  I'll  phone 
you  at  Mack's  hotel — the  Blare,  Manners  said? 
All  right?  So  long." 

Followed  by  Schmidt,  he  dashed  down  a  street 
that  led  to  the  elevated,  while  his  slower-witted 
brother  assumed  command  of  the  five  men  left 
behind  and  started  up-town,  for  Mack's  hotel,  in 
the  subway. 

Handsome  Harry  had  paved  the  way  for  Ter- 
ence Greenham.  The  flash  of  a  bill  and  the 
mention  of  his  errand,  and  the  slavey  who  opened 
the  door  gave  them  the  information,  upon  which 
Mack  had  so  quickly  acted.  And  the  highly  ex- 
cited landlady  corroborated  it  eagerly.  The  two 
women  had  more  to  gossip  about  and  were  at  it 
joyously  before  Greenham  reached  the  side- 
walk. 

"I'll  bet  there  is  a  murder  somewhere  in  it. 
If  these  men  are  detectives,  who  was  the  gent 


PLUNDER  in 

with  the  fifty-dollar  bills?"  demanded  the  land- 
lady. 

"It's  a  girl !  Mr.  Grant  he's  eloped  with  some 
millionaire's  daughter,  and " 

And  so  they  had  it,  and  were  still  having  it 
when  Greenham  and  Schmidt  reached  the  street 
on  which  stood  the  Greenwich  Studios. 

"Wait  at  this  corner,"  ordered  Greenham.  "If 
I'm  not  back  in  twenty  minutes  come  after  me 
with  your  gun  out.  Mack  might  be  there — 
Grant — Lord  knows  who.  Twenty  minutes." 

He  started  for  the  studios. 

Kirby  Rowland  was  not  an  extraordinary  girl 
physically.  She  played  a  little  tennis,  golfed  oc- 
casionally, canoed,  and  was  an  average  sort  of 
outdoor  girl,  but  her  strength  was  not  tremen- 
dous. Far  removed  from  the  girl  of  the  early 
Victorian  era,  she  was  not  the  fainting  sort,  the 
kind  to  grow  white  at  sight  of  blood;  neither  was 
she  the  woman,  devoid  of  nerves,  that  modern 
conditions  are  bringing  forth.  She  was  a  whole- 
some girl,  but  not  at  all  suited  to  undergo  great 
strain  without  reaction.  She  was  suffering  re- 
action now. 


j  12  PLUNDER 

She  had  been  endowed  with  more  than  good 
looks,  more  than  brain — with  insight,  with  vis- 
ion. To  some,  of  little  faith  in  man,  vision  is  a 
curse.  But  to  those  of  faith,  vision  is  a  bless- 
ing. It  causes  them  to  disregard  the  present,  to 
realize  that  all  is  part  of  the  Great  Plan,  which 
has  not  yet  reached  fulfillment,  but  that  ever 
progresses,  in  accordance  with  His  wish. 

To  her,  of  insight  and  vision,  had  come  the 
means,  she  believed,  could  she  but  handle  them, 
to  advance  Time  a  century,  to  force  the  preda- 
tory powers  to  give  now  what  another  century 
Would  see  taken  from  them.  And  when  she 
prayed  for  strength,  she  prayed,  not  as  a  weak- 
ling, but  as  one  who  realized  her  own  physical 
limitations  and  wished  she  had  none.  For  her 
nerves  were  shaken,  not  merely  by  her  scene 
with  Handsome  Harry,  but  by  what  that  scene 
meant  in  added  dangers  and  difficulties.  It  was 
hard  enough  to  work  in  the  dark,  to  pit  her 
youthful  brain  and  heart  against  the  craft  and 
animosity  of  Masterman  and  his  associates.  But 
now  that  one  of  the  underworld,  keen,  cunning 
and  unscrupulous,  was  her  avowed  enemy  and 


PLUNDER  113 

knew  of  her  identity,  her  course  was  trebly  per- 
ilous. Moreover,  at  any  moment  Handsome 
Harry  Mack  might  destroy  her  effectiveness  in 
any  one  of  a  score  of  ways. 

Strength  came  back  to  her  after  a  while.  Her 
brain  began  to  itemize  the  things  she  might  do, 
the  difficulties  that  would  inevitably  arise.  More 
clearly  than  anything  else  she  realized  that  she 
must  hide!  Even  as  Grant  had  been  forced  to 
hide,  so  must  she. 

Action  followed  swiftly  upon  reaction  now. 
If  the  man  who  called  himself  Sir  Fitz-Roy  Bray 
one  moment  and  Harry  Mack  the  next  had  been 
able  to  trace  her  relationship  to  Grant  and  her 
address,  so  might  the  emissaries  and  agents  of 
Masterman.  Further,  Mack  might  come  back! 
True,  Grant  was  to  telephone  her  at  her  studio; 
and  Grant  would  worry  if  she  were  not  there; 
but  what  were  the  worries  of  one  person,  how- 
ever dear,  compared  to  the  consummation  of  her 
scheme  ? 

She  snatched  up  a  suit-case,  and  then  dropped 
it.  If  Martin  Masterman  had  been  willing  to 
pay  Harry  Mack  a  million  for  the  return  of  the 


ii4  PLUNDER 

paper,  he  would  be  willing  to  spend  great  sums 
in  tracing  her,  if  he  learned  her  name.  And  a 
woman  who  carries  a  suit-case  is  more  conspicu- 
ous than  one  who  does  not.  She  would  leave 
without  baggage,  and  at  once!  Exactly  where 
she  would  go  she  did  not  know.  That  was  a 
question  better  decided  after  she  was  away  from 
her  studio.  She  opened  the  door  and  stepped 
into  the  hall.  A  man  alighted  from  the  elevator 
as  she  closed  the  door,  and  approached  her.  He 
lifted  his  hat. 

"Miss  Rowland?  My  name  is  Greenham — 
Terence  Greenham,  Mr.  Martin  Masterman  has 
retained  me  to  look  you  up  in  regard  to  a  certain 
paper." 

Even  in  the  dim  light  of  the  hall  the  detective 
could  see  that  her  face  grew  white,  and  that  her 
bosom  heaved.  It  was  going  to  be  very  easy. 
He  had  the  right  person,  too.  She  gave  herself 
away  when  he  mentioned  the  paper.  Yet  the 
elevator  boy,  in  answer  to  a  bill,  had  informed 
him  that  Miss  Rowland — Greenham  had  worked 
the  same  scheme  of  looking  at  the  letter  boxes 
to  learn  Kirby's  last  name — had  received  a  caller 


PLUNDER  115 

not  long  ago,  and  the  caller's  description  accord- 
ed with  that  of  Handsome  Harry  Mack.  Had 
Mack  come  away  empty-handed?  Or  were  he 
and  the  girl  accomplices?  Another  moment 
would  answer  these  questions. 

The  frightened  girl  turned  back  to  her  apart- 
ment. 

"If  you'll  come  inside  — • — "  Her  voice  quav- 
ered. Greenham  smiled.  Martin  Masterman 
had  spoken  of  blank  checks! 

She  was  opening  the  door  now,  and  the  key 
rattled  as  her  fingers  shook.  She  drew  back  and 
motioned  Greenham  to  precede  her.  Courtesy 
and  caution  both  demanded  that  he  should  not 
do  so,  but  Greenham  was  human,  and  elated  at 
what  promised  to  be  an  easy  victory.  He  stepped 
into  the  apartment.  The  door  closed  upon  him 
with  a  clash,  and,  in  the  hall,  Kirby  hurled  her- 
self upon  it  while  fingers  that  trembled  no  longer 
turned  the  key.  She  turned  and  raced  down  the 
hall.  The  descending  elevator  stopped  for  her, 
then  bore  her  swiftly  to  the  ground  floor. 

Up-stairs  in  her  apartment  Greenham  had 
thrown  himself  against  the  door,  but  it  was  too 


ii6  PLUNDER 

strong.  He  cursed  once,  then  laughed.  He 
rushed  to  the  window,  threw  it  open  and  leaned 
out.  Schmidt,  at  the  corner,  caught  his  signal. 
He  came  swiftly  down  the  street,  on  the  oppo- 
site side.  'As  Kirby  emerged  from  the  building 
Greenham  signaled  once  more.  Schmidt  crossed 
the  street.  Kirby  had  gone  but  a  dozen  yards 
when  the  Greenham  operative  touched  her  arm. 
She  wheeled. 

"Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,  ma'am,"  said 
Schmidt.  "There's  a  gentleman  back  in  your 
apartment  that  ain't  finished  talkin'  to  you, 
ma'am." 

His  fingers  tightened  on  her  arms.  She  jerked 
her  arm  suddenly,  and  the  fingers  bit  into  her 
flesh. 

"Come  quiet,  ma'am,"  counseled  Schmidt,  "or 
I'll  put  somethin'  on  your  wrists  that " 

"By  what  right?"  she  gasped.  "By  what  right 
do  you  stop  me?  I'll  call  for  help !  I'll  - 

Many  of  the  tradespeople  in  the  vicinity  knew 
her  well.  Many  of  the  tenants  of  the  shabbier 
apartments  near  the  studios  had  reason  to  love 
Kirby  Rowland,  the  lady  who  took  their  children 


PLUNDER  117 

on  summer  excursions,  who  hunted  up  jobs  for 
workless  husbands,  who  sent  coal  and  groceries 
to  the  poor.  Without  a  warrant  these  men  had 
no  right  to  detain  her.  Her  friends  among  these 
tenements  would  come  to  her  aid.  Yet  a  rescue 
would  entail  questions  that  must  be  answered. 
Her  quick  wit  did  not  desert  her.  Also,  like  every 
other  modest  woman,  she  hated  a  scene.  Already 
people  were  staring  at  her  and  the  man  who  held 
her  arm. 

"Let  go  of  my  arm,"  she  said.    "And  I'll " 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  in  the  midst 
of  it  something  hard  and  bony  hit  Schmidt  be- 
hind the  ear.  He  dropped  Kirby's  arm  and  turned 
to  defend  himself  from  a  pair  of  fists  that  were 
like  sledge  hammers,  and  that  would  have  dropped 
at  the  first  punch  any  one  less  hardened  to  blows 
than  Julius  Schmidt,  late  heavyweight  champion 
of  the  police  department.  As  it  was,  the  blows 
staggered  the  detective ;  he  fell  into  a  clinch ;  there 
came  the  crash  of  heavy  blows  against  ribs.  The 
two  men  went  down  together,  the  detective  on 
top.  The  man  underneath  writhed  and  hurled 
Schmidt  over;  Kirby  saw  his  face — it  was  Mack! 


n8  PLUNDER 

"Beat  it,  Miss  Rowland,  beat  it!  I'll  hold  the 
dog  till  you're  gone !  Beat  it !" 

It  was  no  time  to  ask  questions  or  to  offer 
thanks.  She  merely  obeyed  instructions.  Through 
the  front  door  of  a  tenement,  along  a  hall,  out 
upon  a  fire  escape,  through  a  back  yard,  upon 
another  fire  escape,  through  another  building,  and 
out  upon  a  street!  Not  for  nothing,  it  now 
seemed,  had  she  learned  the  habitations  of  the 
poor  when  on  missions  of  charity.  The  knowl- 
edge served  her  well  now. 

Back  on  the  street  Mack  drove  his  fists  into 
the  face  of  Schmidt,  striving  to  break  the  detec- 
tive's bulldog  hold,  for  now  that  the  girl  had  es- 
caped, Mack  clamored  and  fought  to  be  free. 
Chivalry  had  not  been  behind  his  assault  upon 
Schmidt.  Hard  common  sense  had  been  the  in- 
centive, for  he  realized  that  if  Kirby  Rowland 
were  captured  she  might  surrender  the  paper,  and 
gone  would  be  the  dreams  of  wealth  for  Hand- 
some Harry  Mack.  This  was  his  reason  for  leap- 
ing from  the  saloon  whither  he  had  been  waiting 
and  watching — save  for  two  minutes  when  he 
used  the  telephone — for  Kirby  Rowland  since  his 


PLUNDER  119 

quiet  departure  from  the  studios.  Better  that  he 
himself,  Harry  Mack,  be  captured,  than  that  the 
possessor  of  the  document  signed  by  the  million- 
aires pass  back  into  its  signers'  possession.  But 
better  still  if  both  girl  and  he  went  free !  Schmidt 
was  on  top  now.  Handsome  Harry  lifted  his 
knee  suddenly.  The  detective  sprawled  limp  upon 
the  body  of  the  crook!  Mack  gained  his  knees, 
his  teeth  showing  in  a  snarl.  Then  suddenly  the 
lips  covered  the  gums  and  he  smiled,  for  he 
found  himself  looking  into  a  gun  held  by  Terence 
Greenham.  The  door  of  Kirby's  apartment  had 
given  way  before  a  chair  wielded  by  the  detective. 
Still  smiling,  for  it  was  part  of  his  code  to  smile 
at  defeat,  Handsome  Harry  arose  to  his  feet, 
brushing  the  knees  of  his  trousers  sedulously. 

"Well,  now  you've  got  me,  what  you  going  to 
do?"  he  asked  coolly. 


VIII 

TRAIN  after  train  left  the  terminal,  but  Dixon 
Grant  boarded  none  of  them.  He  had  told 
Kirby  that  he  would  leave  the  city,  and  had  agreed 
with  her  that  it  was  dangerous  for  him  to  remain ; 
but  he  was  a  red-blooded  youth,  and  the  more  he 
considered  leaving  Kirby  in  the  city  while  he  be- 
took himself  elsewhere,  the  more  his  courage  re- 
belled at  the  plan.  If  he  were  traced  by  the  Mas- 
terman  agents  it  was  possible  that  his  relation  to 
Kirby  might  be  discovered.  He  had  never  told 
any  of  his  associates  in  the  bucket-shop  of  Kirby ; 
he  had  never  told  any  of  his  fellow  lodgers;  but 
detectives  might  learn  of  her  existence.  They 
might  look  up  all  his  acquaintances  in  that  artistic 
colony  to  which  Kirby  belonged  and  where  he  had 
first  met  her  at  a  studio  supper.  He  had  always 
held  aloof  from  his  business  associates,  despising, 
as  he  did,  the  business  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
and  having  a  mild  contempt  for  those  similarly 
1 20 


PLUNDER  x*i 

employed  and  without  desire  for  a  change  of  vo- 
cation. But  the  set  to  which  Kirby  belonged,  and 
into  which — by  virtue  of  an  old  school  friend  be- 
come author — he  had  entered,  knew  that  he  and 
Kirby  were  close  friends.  If  one  of  this  set  were 
approached,  and  should  happen  to  talk,  in  some 
way  or  other  Kirby  might  be  subjected  to  annoy- 
ance, if  nothing  worse,  and  it  ill  became  him  to 
leave  her  to  face  it  alone. 

At  any  rate,  not  until  he  had  communicated 
with  Kirby  and  learned  that  she  had  accomplished 
her  mission  of  storing  the  paper  in  a  Masterman 
vault  would  he  think  of  leaving  the  city.  Brave 
and  capable  as  he  knew  her  to  be,  there  might  be 
a  moment  when  two  husky  fists  would  be  of  in- 
finitely more  value  than  her  ready  woman's  wit. 
Until  she  had  arranged  to  hide  herself,  a  move 
that,  in  his  rising  alarm  for  her,  appeared  to  him 
as  advisable  as  his  own  flight,  he  would  be  near 
at  hand.  So  he  stayed  in  the  terminal,  while 
trains  by  the  score  pulled  out  for  Jersey  and  be- 
yond, standing  near  a  row  of  telephone  booths. 

Once,  twice,  and  again,  he  entered  the  telephone 
booth,  each  time  certain  that  she  jcould  not  have 


122  PLUNDER 

•« 

returned  from  down-town  so  soon,  yet  unable,  in 
his  impatience  that  magnified  danger,  to  let  a  rea- 
sonable time  elapse.  After  the  third  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  reach  her  at  the  Greenwich  Studios,  he 
walked  over  to  the  cigar  stand  and  purchased  a 
smoke.  He  was  lighting  the  cigar  at  the  little  gas 
flame  when  he  was  touched  on  the  arm. 

"Well,  what  have  you  been  doing — tapping  the 
firm's  till?" 

He  turned  to  face  Gene  Carnahan,  a  fellow 
clerk  in  the  office  of  Bryant,  Manners  &  Com- 
pany. It  took  an  effort  for  him  to  return  Carna- 
han's  smile. 

"If  I  had  I'd  not  be  standing  quietly  here, 
Gene,"  he  laughed 

Carnahan  was  the  only  one  of  his  fellow  clerks 
with  whom  he  had  much  to  do.  They  occasional- 
ly lunched  together,  and  Grant  rather  liked  the 
jolly  little  fat  man,  although  they  were  not  at  all 
intimate.  But  Grant  felt  that  Carnahan,  like  him- 
self, worked  for  the  bucket-shop  only  because  of 
dire  need,  and  that  Carnahan  was  as  anxious  as 
himself  to  get  into  something  else.  So  a  subtle 


PLUNDER  113 

bond  of  sympathy  had  thus  been  created  between 
them. 

Grant  offered  Carnahan  a  cigar. 

"What's  the  point  of  the  merry  wheeze,  Gene?" 

Carnahan  looked  quickly  at  Grant.  He  got  his 
cigar  going  before  he  replied. 

"Personally,  Dick,"  he  said,  "about  the  only 
thing  that  restrains  me  from  grabbing  off  a  bank 
roll  from  our  esteemed  bosses  is  the  fact  that  I 
have  a  wife  and  two  kids.  The  way  Bryant  and 
Manners  get  their  coin  doesn't  establish  for  them 
any  valid  title  to  it,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  It  could 
hardly  be  termed  stealing  to  take  anything  from 
them — at  least,  so  broad-minded  a  man  as  myself 
wouldn't  consider  it  such.  So  I'm  not  shocked. 
Dick,  have  you  been  nicking  the  office  funds?  If 
so,  let  me  assure  you  that  while  you're  a  con- 
founded rascal,  you  have  my  deepest  sympathy, 
my  undying  envy  at  your  nerve,  and  my  blessing 
and  best  wishes  for  a  speedy  voyage  to  a  port 
where  extradition  doesn't  reign.  If  you  haven't, 
and  of  course  you  haven't,  why  does  the  Green- 
ham  Detective  Agency  take  such  an  interest  iri 


124  PLUNDER 

your  whereabouts?  And  since  when  have  you 
become  so  pally  with  his  lordship,  Sir  Fitz-Roy 
Bray?" 

"Chop  the  chatter,  Gene,"  said  Grant.  "Get 
down  to  cases.  What  are  you  driving  at?" 

"I  just  phoned  the  office.  I've  had  the  after- 
noon off  to  attend  to  some  private  business.  I 
phoned  to  inquire  about  some  work  I'd  left  un- 
finished. Young  Clarkin,  the  phone  clerk,  he  of 
the  cavernous  ear  and  clacking  tongue,  slipped  me 
some  information  which,  in  view  of  your  re- 
pressed excitement,  I  will  now  pass  swiftly  on  to 
you."  He  dropped  the  grandiloquent  manner. 
"Clarkin,  anxious  as  ever  to  disseminate  informa- 
tion, told  me  that  the  Greenhams  had  just  been  in 
the  office  inquiring  about  Sir  Fitz-Roy.  Seems 
that  he's  a  well-known  crook  named  Harry  Mack. 
The  Greenhams  wanted  to  know  if  Mack  had 
phoned  the  office  this  afternoon  and  whom  he  had 
asked  for.  Clarkin  said  that  you  were  the  baby, 
and  that  he  had  given  Sir  Fitz-Roy,  or  Mack, 
your  address.  Said  that  the  firm  was  quite  het 
up  about  your  not  showing  up  this  P.  M.  What's 
the  answer,  old  top?" 


PLUNDER  1 35 

Grant  stared  at  Carnahan. 

"When  I  know  the  answer  fully,  some  day,  I'll 
let  you  know,  Gene.  In  the  meantime,  do  you 
suppose  you  can  forget  having  seen  me  to-day? 
I  haven't  robbed  anybody.  You're  not  making 
yourself  accessory  after  the  fact." 

"As  if  I  couldn't  be  a  little  thing  like  that  for  a 
man  I  like!"  said  Carnahan.  "I've  forgotten  I 
ever  knew  you,  Dick.  Is  that  enough?" 

Grant  pressed  his  hand. 

"It's  enough,  Gene.    Thanks." 

"Forget  it!  And  if  you  want There's 

my  train.  S'long,  Dick."  And  the  little  fat  man 
dashed  off. 

Grant  looked  after  him.  He  had  learned  some- 
thing in  the  last  few  minutes — that  he  had  a 
friend  on  whom  he  could  count.  It  was  knowl- 
edge that  cheered  for  a  moment.  But  only  for 
that  long,  for  then  it  was  shoved  aside  by  a 
sterner  knowledge,  the  knowledge  that  the  Green- 
hams  were  upon  his  trail.  His  reasoning  had  been 
correct;  he  had  been  traced  by  the  Masterman 
agents.  How  long  before  Kirby  would  be  traced  ? 
.He  leaped  again  into  the  telephone  booth. 


126  PLUNDER 

He  got  the  Greenwich  Studios  and  asked  for 
Miss  Rowland's  apartment.  A  voice  undisguis- 
ably  masculine  answered.  Grant's  heart  thumped. 

"Is  Miss  Rowland  there?" 

"Who  is  this?" 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  Miss  Rowland." 

"Who  is  this?" 

"The  King  of  Spain,"  snapped  Grant  "Is 
Miss  Rowland  there?" 

He  seemed  to  detect  caution  in  the  voice  that 
replied : 

"She's  just  stepped  out.  Any  message.  It  is 
her  brother  talking.  Who  is  this  ?" 

It  was  clumsy  work ;  it  would  have  been  better 
for  the  man  not  to  have  answered  the  telephone. 
For  Grant  stepped  quietly  out  of  the  booth,  paid 
for  the  call  and  walked  swiftly  out  into  the  street 
There  he  stood  a  moment  in  indecision. 

Kirby  Rowland  had  no  brother!  Who,  then, 
could  be  posing  as  that  non-existing  brother  ex- 
cept some  one  vitally  interested  in  the  paper  signed 
by  the  millionaires?  Of  course  it  might  have 
been  a  burglar,  it  might  have  been  the  janitor,  it 
might  have  been  any  one  at  all  playing  an  asinine 


PLUNDER  127 

joke.  But  the  probabilities  were  strongly  against 
any  such  coincidence.  It  was  an  agent  of  Mas- 
terman  or  else  Sir  Fitz-Roy  Bray,  otherwise 
Harry  Mack. 

He  walked  slowly  down  the  street  Sir  Fitz- 
Roy — Harry  Mack.  He  knew  that  Mack  was  a 
client  of  the  firm,  and  that  was  all.  He  had  nod- 
ded to  the  man  occasionally,  but  no  more.  Why, 
then,  should  Mack  have  telephoned  for  him  and 
inquired  his  address?  Why  should  the  Green- 
hams,  commonly  known  to  be  retained  by  the 
Masterman  interests,  inquire  for  Sir  Fitz-Roy? 
Because  Sir  Fitz-Roy,  otherwise  Harry  Mack, 
had  gained,  and  was  known  to  have  gained,  pos- 
session of  the  paper  now  in  the  Masterman  vaults 
—probably. 

And  Mack  had  telephoned  him,  Dixon  Grant, 
because  it  was  Mack  who  had  placed  in  Grant's 
pocket  the  paper.  But  why  had  he  parted  with 
possession  of  the  paper?  Grant  shook  his  head. 
Why  had  Mack  chosen  such  a  repository  as 
Grant's  pocket?  Again  he  shook  his  head.  The 
answers  to  those  questions  were  not  clear.  Suffi- 
cient that  the  thing  had  been  done,  that  Mack  had 


128  PLUNDER 

learned  Grant's  address,  that  the  Greenhams  had 

learned  as  much  as  he,  Mack,  knew,  and  that 

The  telephone  conversation  was  no  impertinent 
joke  perpetrated  by  some  one  who  had  gained 
access  to  Kirby's  room ;  it  was  no  burglar.  Bur- 
glars do  not  answer  the  telephone  in  apartments 
they  are  robbing.  It  was  Mack  or  a  Masterman 
agent.  And  this  being  so,  where  was  Kirby? 
She  was  due  home  now,  some  little  time  ago.  His 
next  to  the  last  telephone  call  had  been  a  bit  too 
early  for  her  return,  but  she  should  have  been 
home  a  few  moments  after  that.  And  that  was 
almost  three-quarters  of  an  hour  ago.  What  had 
happened  in  those  forty-five  minutes  between  her 
coming  home  and  the  answering  of  the  last  phone 
call  by  her  pseudo  brother? 

It  was  that  question  that  made  him  leap  aboard 
a  south-bound  car  and  that  made  him  fret  at  its 
slowness.  It  was  a  question  that  no  fear  for 
self,  no  fear  for  the  wrecking  of  their  great  plan, 
nothing  could  prevent  him  seeking  answer  to. 
For  he  loved  Kirby  Rowland,  and  if  anything 
had  happened  to  her,  he  was  to  blame,  because 


PLUNDER  129 

he  had  left  her  alone  to  face  issues  that  would 
have  appalled  strong  men  even. 

But  discretion  is  ever  the  better  part  of  valor. 
His  blood  cooled  on  the  all  too  slow  journey 
down-town.  If  Kirby  were,  say,  imprisoned  in 
her  own  apartment,  he  alone  would  be  unable  to 
rescue  her  by  violent  assault.  Cunning  would  be 
needed,  unless,  indeed,  he  chose  to  give  up  their 
great  plan.  And  that,  imbued  as  he  now  was  with 
her  altruism,  he  hoped  not  to  do.  But  cunning 
needs  thought  and  wariness.  So  he 'Swung  off  the 
car  at  the  next  stop,  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his 
eyes,  and,  thinking  hard,  approached  the  Green- 
wich Studios  at  a  gait  that,  being  slower,  was 
less  an  invitation  to  curiosity  than  the  breakneck 
pace  at  which  he  had  first  started  out. 

He  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  on  which 
stood  the  Greenwich  Studios.  He  sauntered  down 
it.  From  the  Greenwich  Studios  came  two  men ; 
they  turned  toward  Grant.  His  mouth  grew  hard 
as  he  recognized,  too  late  to  turn  back,  he  thought, 
without  being  recognized  himself,  the  handsome 
countenance  of  Harry  Mack.  And  with  Mack 


130 


PLUNDER 


was  a  man  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  a$ 
Terence  Greenham ! 

Their  arms  were  linked ;  to  the  casual  observer 
they  would  have  seemed  two  middle-aged  chums. 
To  Grant's  understanding  eye  that  linking  of 
arms  was  seizure ;  the  twain  were  captor  and  cap- 
tured. And  they  had  come  from  the  Greenwich 
Studios,  which  housed  Kirby  Rowland! 

His  slow  pace  slackened  for  a  few  strides  into 
a  dawdle.  Mack  was  Greenham's  prisoner.  That 
meant,  since  they  came  from  Kirby's  house,  that 
Greenham  had  caught  Mack  there,  most  likely, 
for  it  was  hardly  probable  that  Mack  had  led  the 
detective  there.  If  so  he  would  not  be  held  by 
the  arm  by  the  detective.  They  would  have 
reached  a  compromise  which  would  have  assured 
Mack  his  freedom.  The  man  capable  of  posing 
as  an  English  nobleman,  and  of  stealing  the 
precious  paper,  would  hardly  be  driven  by  threats. 
Grant  knew  character  a  little,  and  he  had  seen 
the  handsome  but  hard  face  of  Harry  Mack  too 
often  to  deem  the  man  weak.  They  had  met  at 
Kirby's  house;  that  was  the  answer.  But  where 
Was  Kirby? 


PLUNDER  131 

This  question,  important  though  it  was,  he  put 
aside  for  the  moment.  If  necessary,  he  would 
divulge  the  hiding-place  of  the  document  and  so 
save  Kirby  from  harm.  But  until  he  knew  what 
danger,  if  any,  menaced  her  now,  he  would  do 
well  to  keep  his  face  from  the  eyes  of  Harry 
Mack.  He  turned  abruptly  into  a  tobacconist's 
and  asked  for  cigarettes,  while  he  kept  one  eye 
upon  the  door.  The  two  men  with  the  linked 
arms  stopped  outside  the  shop. 

"Really,  old  fellow,  you  can't  put  a  bullet 
through  me  because  I  want  a  smoke,  and  insist 
on  buying  my  own  cigars,  you  know,"  said  the 
voice  of  Handsome  Harry,  in  the  assumed  drawl 
that  fitted  the  identity  of  Sir  Fitz-Roy. 

"Very  well,"  Grant  heard  Greenham  reply. 
"But  no  tricks!" 

It  was  evident  that  although  Greenham  had 
Mack  under  arrest,  he  did  not  care  to  advertise 
the  fact  by  a  brawl.  Still  with  linked  arms  the 
two  men  entered  the  tobacconist's.  Inwardly 
cursing  the  luck  that  had  driven  them  to  enter  his 
place  of  refuge,  Grant  bent  over  the  counter,  as 
though  choosing  from  its  contents. 


I32  PLUNDER 

"What  have  you,  my  man?"  Mack  asked  the 
shopkeeper.  "All  your  deuced  American  cigars 
burn  my  tongue.  Have  you  anything  mild?" 
And  then  he  touched  Grant  on  the  shoulder.  "I 
say,  my  friend,  can  you  recommend  anything  de- 
cent ?  My  cousin  here  doesn't  smoke,  so  he  can't 
tell  me.  What  would  you  recommend?" 

And  unless  the  sense  of  touch  lied,  Grant  felt 
the  fingers  of  Harry  Mack  pinch  his  shoulder. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  answer.  Face  avert- 
ed, wondering,  ready  for  a  mad  dash  past  both 
men,  Grant  mumbled  the  name  of  the  cigar  he 
had  bought  at  the  terminal  a  while  ago.  But 
Mack  was  not  satisfied. 

"I  say,  you  mention  it  as  though  you  didn't 
believe  it's  any  good  at  all.  Can't  you  look  me 
in  the  eye  and  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that 
it  is  a  good  cigar?" 

"Come  on,  Mack,  quit  annoying  the  man,"  said 
Greenham  testily. 

But  Grant  lifted  his  eyes  to  Handsome  Harry. 
Certain  that  the  crook  had  recognized  him  and 
was  making  game  of  him,  the  young  man  doubled 
his  fists  and  lifted  his  shoulders,  prepared  to 


PLUNDER  133 

swing  at  the  nearest  jaw,  but  the  expression  on 
the  face  of  Handsome  Harry  made  his  fingers 
unfold.  For  the  international  crook,  his  back  to 
Greenham,  shook  his  head  the  least  trifle,  while 
his  forehead  wrinkled  in  a  frown  that  could  be 
nothing  other  than  a  warning.  It  was  a  signal 
.that  lasted  only  a  fraction  of  a  second,  but  was 
unmistakable.  Then  Mack  laughed. 

"Beg  pardon  for  ragging  you,  sir.  That  cigar 
is  really  good?  Give  me  a  half  dozen,"  he  said 
to  the  tobacconist. 

Mystified,  inwardly  trembling,  wondering  what 
could  have  been  Mack's  reason  for  the  warning 
and  what  it  meant  and  why  the  crook  did  not  leap 
upon  him,  despite  Greenham's  presence,  and  de- 
mand the  return  of  the  paper,  Grant  lighted  a 
cigarette  at  the  stand,  still  keeping  his  face  from 
Greenham.  The  detective  did  not  know  him,  so 
far  as  Grant  was  aware,  but  he  might  have  ob- 
tained a  description  of  Grant,  and  the  latter  knew 
not  how  effective,  in  a  capable  detective's  brain, 
such  a  description  might  be. 

Mack  took  his  cigars  with  his  free  hand  and 
paid  for  them  with  the  same  member.  He  put 


I34  PLUNDER 

one  in  his  mouth  and  leaned  toward  the  lighter. 
He  removed  it;  then  turned  toward  his  captor. 

"I  tell  you  flat,  Greenham,"  and  he  enunciated 
the  detective's  name  clearly.  "I  won't  go  back  to 
those  studios.  I  wouldn't  for  anything." 

Greenham  stared  at  his  prisoner. 

"Now  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  he 
demanded,  surprised  into  the  question. 

"Just  what  I  say,"  said  Mack.  "There's  noth- 
ing there  for  me,  and  I  tell  you  flat  I'll  go  no- 
where without  a  reason.  I'll  go  to  your  bally 
headquarters  if  you  insist,  but  there's  nothing  at 
the  Greenwich  Studios  and  I  won't  go  back  there." 

Greenham's  jaw  dropped  slightly. 

"Well,  who  the  dickens  asked  you  to?  Look 
here,  Mack,  I'll  have  no  more  of  your  nonsense. 
You  come  along  with  me  or  I'll  ring  for  a  wag- 
on!" Despite  the  presence  of  tobacconist  and 
stranger,  Greenham  grew  angry,  and  did  not 
lower  his  voice.  "Why,  you  cheap  con  man,  do 
you  think  you  can  make  a  rag  of  me?  You've 
stalled  long  enough.  Who' re  you  trying  to  kid, 
anyway?  I've  had  enough  of  this!  I've  stopped 


PLUNDER  135 

to  get  a  drink  and  now  for  a  smoke,  and  I've  had 
enough.  Come  on !" 

"Why,  blast  it  all,  if  you  haven't  a  temper, 
Greenham,  old  cock!  Deuced  if  I  thought  it  of 
you !  Lead  on,  my  friend !" 

And,  smiling  and  chipper,  Handsome  Harry 
allowed  the  frowning  detective  to  lead  him  from 
the  shop.  The  tobacconist  stared  after  them.  He 
turned  to  Grant,  as  mystified  as  himself: 

"Well,  I'll  bet  that's  a  fly  cop  making  a  pinch ! 
'And  I  thought  they  were  pals.  Class  to  that 
crook,  eh?" 

"There  is,"  said  Grant  dully.  A  moment  later 
he,  too,  passed  out  into  the  street,  and  turned 
again  toward  the  Greenwich  Studios.  But  he 
took  only  a  couple  of  steps  before  he  paused. 

Why  hadn't  Mack  recognized  him  ?  Or,  rather, 
not  that,  for  Mack  had  recognized  him;  his  frown 
and  nodded  head  were  proof  of  that.  But  why 
hadn't  the  crook  denounced  him  to  Greenham? 
The  chances  were  a  million  to  one  that  Greenham 
had  taken  Mack  into  custody  because  of  the  affair 
of  the  paper,  and  million-to-one  chances  maj; 


136  PLUNDER 

ordinarily  be  looked  upon  as  facts.  Then  why 
didn't  Mack,  under  arrest,  with  his  hold  on  for- 
tune broken,  denounce  Grant  ?  There  was  no  use 
in  trying  to  figure  that  out;  let  it  suffice  that  Mack 
had  not  denounced  Grant. 

Sir  Fitz-Roy  Bray  had  not  impressed  Grant  as 
being  a  fool;  and  Gene  Carnahan  had  said  that 
Bray  was  a  crook  named  Mack.  A  crook  clever 
enough  to  pass  himself  off  as  an  English  noble- 
man was  not  a  fool.  Then  why  the  queer  talk 
that  had  angered  Greenham?  Why  should  Mack 
want  to  anger  his  captor? 

"There's  nothing  at  the  Greenwich  Studios. 
I'll  go  nowhere  without  a  reason." 

These  scraps  from  Mack's  statements  to  the 
detective  came  back  to  Grant.  Only  fools  make 
meaningless  remarks.  Mack  was  no  fool ;  there- 
fore, his  remarks  held  meaning.  For  whom? 
For  Grant! 

It  was  clear  enough.  For  reasons  of  his  own 
Mack  would  not  denounce  Grant.  More,  he  was 
shielding  Grant,  for  he  was  warning  the  clerk 
that  Kirby  Rowland  was  not  at  the  studios,  and 
that  there  was  danger  there.  There  was  no  other 


PLUNDER  137 

meaning  save  that.  And  there  was  no  reason  in 
the  world  for  Mack  to  attempt  to  deceive  Grant. 
Kirby  was  not  in  the  studios.  Nor  could  she  be 
under  arrest.  Mack  had  informed  him  of  so  much 
that  he  would  have  informed  him  of  this  last  had 
it  happened.  He  felt  a  sudden  unaccountable 
faith  in  the  man  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  crook, 
and  who,  undoubtedly,  if  his  hard  face  were  any 
indication  of  his  character,  would  kill  without 
compunction  any  who  stood  in  his  path. 

Mack's  hints  were  truthful  ones.  Kirby  was 
not  at  home,  and  further,  she  could  not  be  ex- 
pected home.  This  last  deduction  was  as  plain 
as  the  first.  Otherwise  Mack  would  not  have 
made  the  statement  so  emphatically  that  he  would 
not  go  back  to  the  studios.  But  how  could  Mack 
know  she  was  not  coming  back?  His  heart 
leaped  as  he  answered  that  question — because  she 
had  come  and  gone ! 

But  where  ?  That  was  for  Dixon  Grant  to  find 
out.  He  set  out  at  once  in  search  of  Kirby. 


IX 


THE  dock  on  a  near-by  church  tower  struck 
eleven,  each  note  distinct,  menacing.  The 
three  men  in  the  library  seemed  to  brace  them- 
selves against  the  sounds,  as  slaves  might  before 
the  lash  of  the  whip.  Their  attitudes  beneath  the 
real  whips  could  not  more  clearly  have  indicated 
their  character,  for  Blaisdell  seemed  to  cringe  as 
each  stroke  of  the  bell  floated  through  the  open 
window;  Cardigan  seemed  to  grit  his  teeth  and 
square  his  shoulders;  while  Masterman's  face 
grew  more  and  more  impassive  as  the  strokes 
continued.  Only  his  eyes,  gloomy,  brooding, 
showed  the  fire  pent  up  within  him.  And  thus, 
in  other  and  less  happy  incarnations,  might  all 
three  have  stood  physical  torture. 

A  knock  sounded  gently  on  the  door  as  the  last 
stroke  died  away. 

"Come  in,"  said  Masterman  harshly. 

A  liveried  servant  showed  for  a  second  on  the 
threshold. 

138 


PLUNDER  139 

"Mr.  Greenham,"  he  announced  softly,  then 
closed  the  door,  himself  outside. 

As  a  taptive  at  the  stake  might  have  looked  at 
a  rescuer  Blaisdell  looked  at  the  detective. 

"Well,  well,  well,  have  you  caught  her,  have 
you  caught  her,  have  you  caught  her?"  His  teeth 
chattered,  though  his  forehead  was  moist  and  his 
eyes  feverish. 

"Have  you  got  the  paper  ?"  rumbled  Cardigan, 
his  head  thrust  forward. 

Masterman  merely  looked  at  the  detective,  and 
it  was  to  him  that  Greenham  directed  his  answer. 

"Not  yet.    But  I  hope " 

"Hope,"  said  Masterman,  "is  the  refuge  of  the 
incompetent  What  have  you  done?" 

Greenham  flushed. 

"I  have  operatives  at  the  railroad  station.  I've 
notified  practically  every  hotel  in  the  city  to  have 
their  house  detective  keep  on  the  lookout  for  a 
woman  answering  this  Rowland  girl's  description. 
As  I  phoned  you  earlier  in  the  evening,  she  got 
away  by  a  trick,  but  it's  only  a  matter  of  time 
when " 

"When    seconds   mean   millions,    Greenham, 


140  PLUNDER 

kindly  refrain  from  referring  to  time  so  careless- 
ly," snapped  Masterman.  "She  got  away?  A 
young  girl — an  artist,  you  said  ?  Away  from  you, 
said  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  detectives  on  earth ! 
Greenham,  at  any  other  time  I'd  laugh.  As  it  is 
— what  else  have  you  done?" 

"I  have  operatives  tracing  her  friends.  I  ex- 
pect at  any  moment  to  hear  from  them  that  she 
has  been  located." 

"Hope  again,"  said  Masterman,  "when  I  want 
facts!  And  this  Mack?  Have  you  discovered 
his  reason  for  interfering?" 

"He  refuses  to  talk,"  replied  Greenham,  "ex- 
cept to  state  that  if  he  isn't  released  by  midnight 
he'll  have  something  to  say  to  the  papers." 

"To  the  papers!"  Cardigan's  bull-like  roar 
shook  the  chandelier.  "Another  bit  of  your 
damned  incompetency,  Greenham.  When  you 
had  the  man  why  didn't  you  hide  him  somewhere  ? 
Why  take  him  to  headquarters  where  he  could 
get  lawyers,  and — Greenham,  if  I  had  an  office 
boy  as  big  a  fool  as  you  I'd  fire  him!" 

"Kidnaping  isn't  so  feasible  as  it  sounds,"  said 
Greenham  angrily.  "I  did  the  best  I  could.  I've 


PLUNDER  141 

had  him  locked  up,  and — you  'talk  about  kidnap- 
ing. What  good  would  that  have  done?  He's 
in  league  with  this  Rowland  woman,  that's  cer- 
tain, else  why  did  he  rescue  her  from  Schmidt? 
And  when  he's  turned  loose  he'll  try  to  see  her, 
won't  he?  And  won't  my  men  be  on  his  trail?" 

"And  weren't  they  this  afternoon?"  sneered 
Cardigan. 

"They'll  not  lose  him  again,"  promised  Green- 
ham. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Masterman.  "In  the  mean- 
time   "  He  walked  to  the  window  and  stared 

out  into  the  night.  Somewhere  in  this  city  was 
a  chit  of  a  girl,  who  was  defying  him,  Martin 
Masterman,  whom  no  man  had  ever  defied  save 
to  his  cost.  She  was  defying  Martin  Masterman; 
she  would  make  her  defiance  good! 

To-day  she  had  asked  the  car  lines  of  the  city 
to  issue  universal  transfers;  to-morrow — but 
there  must  be  no  to-morrow!  He  turned  back 
into  the  room  and  the  light  from  the  chandelier 
struck  full  upon  his  face,  showing  things  there 
that  up  to  that  time  had  been  hidden. 

"Greenham,"  he  said,  "men  may  be  made  to 


143  PLUNDER 

talk.  This  afternoon  it  did  not  seem  possible 
that  Mack  was  in  league  with  this  woman.  Their 
demands  are  so  different." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Might  it  not  be 
possible  that  the  woman's  demands  were  made 
merely  to  show  that  there  must  be  no  trifling 
with  the  demands  of  Mack?  To  emphasize,  as  it 
were,  Mack's  demands?  He  shook  his  head. 
This  did  not  seem  probable,  much  as  he  wished 
it  were.  Mack's  actions  during  the  afternoon 
as  learned  by  Greenham  and  reported  to  Master- 
man,  gave  the  lie  to  that  conclusion.  The  crook 
and  the  girl  were  independent  factors.  That 
Mack  had  aided  the  girl  clouded  this  reasoning, 
but  Mack  was  a  blackmailer,  pure  and  simple, 
while  the  girl — Masterman  had  never  seen  her, 
but  she  had  talked  to  him,  and  the  voice  indicates 
as  much,  more  sometimes,  than  features  do.  She 
was  no  blackmailer.  Yet  Mack  had  rescued  her. 
He  must  have  had  a  reason.  He  must  know 
where  to  find  her.  There  was  ruthless  purpose 
on  the  face  of  Masterman  when  he  spoke  again. 

"You're  right,  Greenham,  when  you  say  that 
Mack  will  try  to  find  this  Rowland  person.  But 


PLUNDER  143 

you're  probably  wrong  when  you  say  that  your 
operatives  will  not  lose  him  again.  He's  too 
clever.  If  he  knows  where  this  Rowland  woman 
may  be  found  he  must  be  made  to  tell !  This  is 
no  petty  matter;  this  is  a  matter  that  affects  the 
business  of  the  nation.  And  one  man  can  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  business  and  progress. 
Understand?" 

"You  mean ?"  Greenham  hesitated. 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  snapped  Masterman. 
''You're  no  child!  I  told  you  this  afternoon 
that  I'd  stand  behind  you.  And  you  merely 
placed  him  under  arrest  on  some  trumped-up 
charge." 

Greenham  wet  his  suddenly  dry  lips. 

"Mr.  Masterman,  I  thought  you  meant  that 
any  false-arrest  stuff — any  suits  for  dam- 
ages  " 

Masterman  cut  him  short  with  a  gesture.  "I 
said  I'd  stand  behind  you.  I  meant  it.  Find  out 
where  this  girl  is !" 

Greenham  shook  his  head.    "It's  too  late." 

"Too  late?  Who  says  so?  I  tell  you  this 
woman  must  be  found.  I  tell  you "  For 


144  PLUNDER 

the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life  Martin  Master- 
man  lost  control  of  himself.  "Find  her!"  he 
cried;  "find  her!" 

The  demon  unleashed  in  the  soul  of  the  master 
of  transportation  frightened  Greenham.  He  an- 
swered almost  in  a  whisper. 

"It's  too  late!"    he  repeated. 

"That's  twice  you've  said  that,"  raged  Master- 
man.  "Don't  you  understand  that  I  control  the 
authorities  ?" 

"But  not  the  judges,"  said  Greenham.  "And 
Mack  has  seen  a  judge." 

Masterman  regained  his  self-control  at  once. 
He  sat  down. 

"Seen  a  judge?    Who?" 

This  gave  him  something  to  plot  against,  a 
chance  for  scheming.  The  world  was  a  stage — 
his  stage,  and  all  men  were  actors — his  actors. 
But  just  now  it  had  seemed  that  the  play  was 
ended,  the  plot  run  out,  and  so  he  had  lost  control 
of  himself.  But  there  was  to  be  an  epilogue. 

"How  did  Mack  see  a  judge?" 

"He  didn't  himself,  but  a  lawyer  did.  He 
went  to  Judge  Marchand,  and  the  judge  granted 


PLUNDER  145 

a  writ  of  habeas,  returnable  to-morrow  morning. 
Mack  must  have  planted  the  lawyer;  had  some 
deal  with  him  that  if  he  didn't  show  up  at  a  cer- 
tain time  to  apply  for  the  writ " 

"Who's  his  lawyer?" 

"Peterthwaite." 

"Purchasable?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  it's  too  late,  anyhow.  He 
found  Marchand  at  his  home  and  got  the  writ. 
Even  if  he  backed  out,  Marchand  wouldn't. 
There's  one  man  that  can't  be  reached." 

Masterman  nodded.  No  one  need  tell  him  of 
the  incorruptibility  of  Judge  Marchand. 

"But  a  business  necessity — Marchand  might 
do  something,"  said  Greenham. 

"He  can't  recall  the  writ  if  it's  been  served  on 
the  commissioner — a  writ  demanding  that  Mack 
be  produced  in  court  to-morrow  morning,"  snap- 
ped Masterman. 

Greenham  had  known  this  as  well  as  the  finan- 
cier. Only  to  ease  the  tension  had  he  volun- 
teered the  suggestion.  Masterman's  face  was  im- 
passive once  again.  His  voice  was  chill. 

"The  writ  returnable  to-morrow  morning,  eh? 


146  PLUNDER 

But  that's  ten  hours  off.  In  the  meantime,  Mack 
might  be  made  to  talk !" 

"When  he  has  to  be  produced  before  the  judge 
in  the  morning?" 

"Well?"    The  great  man's  tones  were  icy. 

Greenham  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  just  what  this  crisis  is,  Mr. 
Masterman ;  you  haven't  told  me.  But  it  can't  be 
any  greater  than  the  one  if  anything  happened  to 
the  man  for  whom  Judge  Marchand  had  issued 
a  writ  of  habeas  corpus.  I  know  Marchand;  I'll 
not  monkey  with  him.  And  I  advise  you  not  to. 
Better  let  Mack  go  at  midnight  as  he  demands. 
The  Citizen  is  after  you  all  the  time.  If  Mack 
should  choose  to  talk  to  one  of  their  report- 
ers  " 

"Keep  reporters  from  him,"  said  Masterman. 

"He'll  talk  to  some  one — the  policeman  on 
guard  in  the  corridor.  He  said  to  tell  you  that." 

"He  said  that  this  morning,  but  I  thought  a 
friend  of  his  had  the  paper  then.  As  it  is,  no 
paper  would  believe  his  story,  would  dare  to 
print  it  without  proof." 

"But  it's  known  that  I  arrested  him,  and  that 


PLUNDER  147 

I  work  for  you.  The  Citizen's  reporters  are 
clever.  They'd  put  these  facts  with  Mack's 
story." 

Masterman  sank  a  little  lower  in  his  chair. 

"Greenham,  release  the  man.  Have  your  men 
follow  him,  but — get  the  Rowland  woman!  I'll 
pay  you — you  know  me-  You  needn't  bother 
about  pay.  Greenham,  she's  won  her  first  move ; 
I  leave  it  to  you  to  see  that  she  makes  no  other." 

"The  first  move?  Then  the  universal  trans- 
fers  " 

The  liveried  servant  knocked  again  on  the 
door. 

"Mr.  Lindley  Jackson,  sir." 

"Show  him  up,"  said  Masterman. 

Still  impassive,  he  turned  to  Greenham. 

"Greenham,"  he  said  rapidly,  "if  Mack  is  re- 
leased and  his  lawyer  informs  Judge  Marchand 
of  that  fact,  the  habeas  proceedings  fall  flat,  don't 
they?  Then  get  Peterthwaite  to  see  Marchand 
to-night  and  tell  him  of  Mack's  release.  Then  — 
Ah,  Mr.  Jackson,  glad  to  see  you.  You  know 
Cardigan  and  Blaisdell,  eh?  Sit  down  and  have 
Something  to  smoke."  He  walked  with  Green- 


i48  PLUNDER 

ham  to  the  door.  "Mack  might  elude  any  one 
following  him,  eh?"  he  said  in  a  whisper.  "But 
if  they  shouldn't  follow  him?  If  they  rush  him 
away  in  an  auto?  You  understand?" 

Greenham  nodded.  Not  for  long  was  Master- 
man  circumvented  by  the  entrance  of  the  incor- 
ruptible Judge  Marchand  upon  the  scene.  Mar- 
chand,  not  knowing  the  gravity  of  the  situation, 
merely  thinking  that  Peterthwaite's  client  was 
some  victim  of  ordinary  police  activity,  would 
be  satisfied  with  that  shyster's  statement  that 
Mack  had  been  released1  before  the  serving  of 
the  writ  of  habeas.  If  Peterthwaite's  eloquence 
had  been  enough  to  persuade  the  judge  to  issue 
the  writ  in  advance  of  any  preliminary  hearing 
before  a  magistrate;  if  he  had  played  upon  Judge 
Marchand's  well-known  distaste  for  police  deten- 
tion, under  insufficient  reason,  of  innocent  men, 
he  would  be  able  to  gull  that  able  but  too-trusting 
jurist  further.  And  Mack  could  be  spirited  away, 
made  to  talk.  He  came  out  of  his  dream  of  justi- 
fying Masterman's  faith  in  himself  with  a  jar, 
for,  seated  at  the  wheel  of  a  powerful  runabout 
that  stood  beneath  an  arc  light,  was  a  man  whom 


PLUNDER,  149 

he  knew  well,  Tom  Hanrahan,  of  the  Citizen. 
Across  the  street  were  two  other  small  cars,  and 
on  the  sidewalk,  talking  to  Hanrahan,  were  two 
other  reporters  from  the  paper  owned  and  pub- 
lished by  Lindley  Jackson.  Greenham  stared. 

"What's  the  idea?"  he  asked,  as  Hanrahan 
grinned  and  the  other  two  approached. 

"You're  news,  old  top,"  said  Hanrahan. 
"When  our  respected  boss  is  invited  at  the  witch- 
ing hour  to  visit  Masterman,  he  takes  a  few  of 
us  along.  WTiere  you  going,  Chief?  For  I'm 
going  the  same  place  and  I'll  take  you  with  me." 

And  Tom  Hanrahan  could  give  all  the  trumps 
to  the  best  detective  that  ever  lived — Greenham 
admitted  this  himself — and  score  a  grand  slam. 
He  could  not  be  eluded.  Right  off  the  bat  Mas- 
terman's  scheme  had  been  beaten.  There  could 
be  no  kidnaping  of  Harry  Mack  while  Hanrahan, 
at  his  chief's  behest,  was  trailing  the  people  who 
left  the  Masterman  household. 

Greenham  made  the  best  of  a  bad  matter. 

"Headquarters,  Tom,"  he  said. 

A  little  later  Handsome  Harry  Mack  was  re- 
leased. 


150  PLUNDER 

"I  pinched  him  on  general  principles — interna- 
tional crook,"  Greenham  explained  to  the  re- 
porter. "No  charge  against  him;  made  a  mis- 
take. Meant  to  have  him  released  earlier,  but 
cable  from  England  saying  he  wasn't  wanted  for 
job  over  there  didn't  arrive  till  late,  while  I  was 
conferring  with  Masterman  about  some  matters 
that  are  nobody's  business,  Tom,  old  chap.  I 
didn't  want  Mack  to  have  to  sleep  in  a  cell  if  he's 
done  nothing,  that's  all." 

He  had  to  tell  all  this,  for  the  reporter,  he 
knew,  would  not  leave  him  until  he  went  to  bed, 
and  would  certainly  learn  the  detective's  mission 
at  police  headquarters. 

However,  he  still  hoped  to  have  his  men  trail 
Mack  after  his  release  and  carry  out  Masterman's 
suddenly  conceived,  plan.  But  Tom  Hanrahan 
had  no  explicit  orders  from  his  chief.  He  was 
to  trail  whoever  left  the  Masterman  household, 
on  general  principles;  if  there  was  no  news  in 
them,  he  could  drop  the  trail.  There  was  no 
news,  so  far  as  Hanrahan  could  see,  in  Greenham, 
But  an  international  crook  was  always  good  for 
a  few  sticks  on  the  front  page. 


PLUNDER  151 

"Blind  steer  the  boss  gave  me,  eh?"  mused 
Hanrahan.  "Well,  then  I'll  get  a  yam  out  of  this 
Mack." 

And  when  Mack  was  released  the  reporter 
proffered  the  use  of  his  car,  which  Handsome 
Harry,  with  a  grin  at  Greenham — he  was  no 
chicken,  this  Handsome  Harry,  and  was  quick 
to  guess  Greenham's  impotent  anger  and  its 
cause — accepted  thankfully.  In  the  reporter's 
high-powered  runabout — owned,  be  it  remarked, 
by  Mr.  Jackson — Handsome  Harry  sped  up- 
town. After  they  had  ridden  for  a  couple  of 
squares  'the  crook  spoke  to  the  reporter. 

"I  suppose  you  know,"  he  said,  "that  Green- 
ham's  men  are  following  us  in  taxis?" 

"What's  the  answer?"  inquired  Hanrahan. 
"Where  do  you  and  Martin  Masterman  hitch 
up?" 

It  was  imperative,  thought  Handsome  Harry, 
that  he  shake  off  the  trailing  sleuths.  He  under- 
stood perfectly  that  the  next  time  he  was  taken 
into  custody  he  would  be  placed  where  no  writs 
of  habeas  or  threats  to  tell  the  newspapers  what 
he  knew  would  earn  his  release.  Of  course  he 


1 52  PLUNDER 

could  tell  Hanrahan  the  truth,  and  Hanrahan's 
paper  would  protect  him  from  Greenham's  agents. 
But,  needless  to  say,  Handsome  Harry  was  not 
telling  any  one  the  truth  just  yet,  not  until  his  own 
game  had  been  played  and  lost.  And  he  did  not 
intend  to  lose. 

"The  answer?"  echoed  Handsome  Harry  eas- 
ily. "Well,  suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  the 
Botticelli  bought  by  Martin  Masterman  last 
winter  for  one  hundred  and  forty  thousand  dol- 
lars was  a  fake,  and  that  Martin  Masterman 
thought  he  could  prove  I  planned  the  fake  and 
copped  his  money?  What  sort  of  a  story  would 
that  make?" 

"And  those  birds  behind  are  unsatisfied  still  of 
your  innocence  and  are  trailing  you  to  lead  them 
to  better  evidence?" 

"Go  to  the  head  of  the  class,  Mr.  Reporter  for 
the  Citizen,"  laughed  Handsome  Harry. 

They  were  crossing  a  crowded  street.  Hanra- 
han looked  back  again.  A  story  that  would  make 
Martin  Masterman  ridiculous  would  tickle  Lind- 
ley  Jackson,  who  hated  the  billionaire,  and  Jack- 
son was  Hanrahan's  employer. 


PLUNDER  153 

"Those  taxis  can  make  forty-five  if  they  have 
to.  This  baby,"  and  he  patted  the  wheel,  "will 
do  ninety.  Do  you  like  fast  riding,  Mr.  Mack  ?" 

"Anything  less  than  fifty  feels  tame  to  me," 
grinned  Mack. 

"Well,  let's  be  wild  for  once,"  said  Hanrahan. 

The  runabout  shot  ahead  like  a  bullet.  A  few 
squares  farther  on  it  was  bettering  fifty  miles, 
and  before  many  minutes  the  pursuing  taxicabs 
were  out  of  sight. 


X 


IN  ONE  corner  Masterman  discussed  with 
Creighton,  publisher  of  the  Tribunal,  some 
additions  lately  made  to  the  Art  Museum.  Blais- 
dell,  nervous  and  showing  slight  traces  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  consumed  three  pints  of  cham- 
pagne, complimented  Highlands,  owner  of  the 
Star,  on  the  series  of  Sunday  articles  the  Star 
was  printing  about  the  food  sources  of  the  coun- 
try; a  series,  by  the  way,  which  proved  to  the 
satisfaction  of  its  author,  his  employer  and  Blais- 
dell,  that  the  country  would  starve  but  for  the 
genius  of  the  little  greedy  man  who  was  Lord  of 
the  Granary  and  Market. 

Sanderson,  Mannering  and  Cowdray,  owners 
of  the  Planet,  the  Orb  and  the  Despatch,  chatted 
on  various  subjects  with  Cardigan.  Yerkes  and 
MlcGaffey,  of  the  Wire  and  the  Transcript,  two 
papers  as  wide  apart  in  politics  and  treatment  of 
the  news  as  the  two  poles,  who,  through  their 
154 


PLUNDER  155 

editorial  columns  sneered  and  decried  each  other, 
chatted  with  every  evidence  of  pleasure. 

Only  Lindley  Jackson,  owner,  publisher  and 
editor  of  the  Citizen,  sat  alone.  His  champagne 
was  untasted;  the  plate  of  sandwiches  on  the 
little  table  beside  his  chair  remained  undimin- 
ished.  He  even  smoked  one  of  his  own  cigars, 
rather  than  the  rare,  expressly  manufactured 
panetelas  of  Martin  Masterman.  Careless  about 
his  appearance  apparently,  one  looked  twice  at 
Lindley  Jackson,  greatest  newspaper  genius  of 
his  age,  before  one  saw  that  everything  about 
him  was  in  harmony.  If  his  hair  seemed  untidy 
one  noted  that  it  was  a  careful  untidiness.  The 
loosely  knotted  tie  with  its  poetically  flowing 
ends  bore  out  the  scheme.  An  artistic  poseur, 
even  the  pose  gave  the  effect  required  of  loosely 
restrained  energy. 

A1  man  of  great  genius,  he  was  not  above  de- 
manding flattery  of  his  genius.  Altruistic  pub- 
licly, always  making  the  Citizen  stand  for  the 
rights  of  the  people,  privately  he  was  a  bit  of  a 
snob.  But  his  snobbishness  was  intellectual;  it 
was  not  based  on  any  material  possessions.  He 


156  PLUNDER 

despised  the  three  millionaires  more  because  he 
deemed  them  vulgarians  than  because  of  their 
methods  of  acquiring  wealth.  His  real,  though 
unuttered,  objection  to  colossal  wealth  was  that 
it  brutalized  the  possessor  and  all  those  with 
whom  the  possessor  came  into  contact.  He  had 
no  real  love  for  the  people,  because  he  did  not 
respect  them.  That,  for  centuries,  they  had  per- 
mitted a  few  to  rob  them  in  wholesale  fashion, 
and  enslave  them,  made  them  worthy  of  contempt. 
He  believed  the  people  neither  capable  of  self- 
rule  nor  worthy  of  it,  but  he  believed,  and  sin- 
cerely, that  because  the  people  did  not  deserve 
a  thing  was  no  reason  why  they  should  not  have 
it.  The  people  could  hardly  make  a  greater  mess 
of  their  affairs  than  was  being  made  for  them  by 
others;  it  was  their  inalienable  privilege  to  go  to 
the  deuce  in  their  own  way.  He  believed  that  all 
had  inherited  the  earth  equally;  that  one  man 
had  as  much  right  to  rule  as  another.  That  he 
might  not  be  fit  to  rule  was  beside  the  question. 
A  queer  combination  was  Lindley  Jackson,  and 
he  fought  with  all  his  genius,  unsparing  of  his 
health  or  wealth,  for  a  people  in  whose  genius, 


PLUNDER  157 

in  the  mass,  he  did  not  trust,  because  the  divinity 
in  each  human  being,  however  clouded  by  ignor- 
ance, carried  with  it  title  to  a  share  in  earthly 
power.  So  he  believed,  and  so  he  fought.  And 
now  he  glowered  at  Masterman.  He  hurled  his 
cigar  into  a  fireplace. 

"I  take  it,"  he  said,  suavely  insulting,  "that 
we  aren't  here  to  discuss  art,  prize-fighting,  or" 
— with  a  sneer  at  Blaisdell — "the  wonderful 
genius  of  the  gentleman  who  invented  the  food 
corner.  We're  here  because  Masterman  wants 
something  of  us.  What  is  it,  Masterman?" 

There  were  very  few  men  who  spoke  to  the 
master  of  transporation  without  'the  prefix 
"Mister."  If  they  knew  him  intimately  he  was 
"Martin."  Otherwise,  "Mr.  Masterman."  But 
Lindley  Jackson  was  one  of  the  few  who  did  not 
fear  Martin  Masterman.  His  great  newspaper 
was  financially  independent  of  the  financier. 
More  than  once  had  Masterman  planned  to  ruin 
Jackson,  but  the  latter  had  been  too  clever  for 
him.  He  even  forced  the  very  interests  he  de- 
nounced to  advertise  in  his  paper,  in  very  fear  of 
what  further  injury  he  might  do  them. 


I58  PLUNDER 

Cowdray  and  Yerkes  frowned  at  the  publisher 
of  the  Citizen.  Others  stared  at  him,  hostility  in 
their  eyes;  but  Masterman  smiled  ingratiatingly. 
He  struck  his  library  table  with  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  and  those  present  came  to  attention  as  at 
a  chairman's  gavel.  Masterman  came  directly  to 
the  point. 

"Mr.  Jackson  is  right;  I  beg  his  pardon  for 
taking  up  his  time  with  trivialities.  I  have  invited 
you  gentlemen  who  lead  public  opinion  to  come 
to  my  house  because  I  wished  to  ask  something 
of  you.  But  not  for  myself — for  the  nation." 

He  paused  and  looked  into  every  face.  From 
all  save  one  he  received  the  glance  of  encourage- 
ment, of  subservience,  he  wished.  That  one  was 
the  scowling  countenance  of  Lindley  Jackson. 

"Patriotism,  gentlemen,"  continued  Master- 
man, "is  not  dead  yet.  I  know  that,  and  because 
I  know  it " 

Jackson  took  out  his  watch. 

"Five  minutes  of  twelve,"  he  interrupted 
rudely.  "I  have  to  be  at  my  office  at  twelve- 
thirty.  Forget  the  introduction,  Masterman. 
Come  down  to  earth." 


PLUNDER  159 

Masterman  winced  slightly  at  the  interruption, 
but  he  held  in  his  anger.  It  would  not  do  to 
quarrel  with  Lindley  Jackson. 

"I  will,"  said  he.  "To-night,  gentlemen,  there 
is  loose  a  force  that  menaces — have  I  your  as- 
surance that  what  I  say  will  be  treated  con- 
fidentially?" 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent  from  all  save 
Jackson.  He  answered: 

"You  most  certainly  have  not,  Masterman.  I'll 
print  anything  you  say  to-night  if  it  has  news 
value." 

It  was  an  impasse.  Unless  Jackson  could  be 
made  to  reconsider  this,  there  was  no  use  in 
going  further  in  the  effort  to  render  harmless 
the  bombshell  which  Kirby  Rowland  promised 
to  fire.  The  financier  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Look  here,  Jackson,"  he  said  at  length,  "be 
reasonable.  It's  a  mighty  vital  situation.  I 
have  assurance  that  my  words  will  be  kept 
secret" 

Jackson  thought  in  his  turn. 

"Masterman,  you  just  mentioned  some  force 
that  menaced  something — probably  yourself.  Is 


160  PLUNDER 

it  possible  that  I  will  hear  of  this  force  from 
some  one  other  than  yourself?" 

"It  is,"  said  Masterman.  There  was  nothing 
else  to  say. 

"Then  go  ahead— talk,"  said  Jackson.  "If  I 
hear  of  this  elsewhere  I  will  not  be  bound  by 
my  promise  to  you." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Masterman.  "Not  bound 
by  a  promise,  but  bound  by  patriotism.  Listen: 
A  certain  paper  was  signed  by  certain  men,  who 
in  that  paper  agreed,  with  other  men,  to  follow 
a  given  course  of  action.  I  can  be  no  clearer. 
That  paper  has  been  lost.  The  person  who  has 
found  it  threatens  to  take  the  paper  to  the  news- 
papers. The  publication  of  that  paper  would 
mean  anarchy.  I  mean  that.  It  is  as  serious 
as  that,  because  the  contents  of  the  paper  would 
be  misunderstood  by  the  people.  Have  I  your 
promises,  gentlemen,  that,  out  of  patriotism,  you 
will  refuse  to  print  the  contents  of  that  docu- 
ment if  it  is  offered  to  you?" 

"In  so  serious  a  matter,"  said  Cowdray  pomp- 
ously, "I  am  certain  that  none  of  my  brethren 
of  the  press  would  think  of  printing  it.  You, 


PLUNDER  161 

Mr.  Masterman,  are  not  given  to  idle  utterances. 
What  you  say  is  received  with  consideration.  I 
think  my  colleagues  agree  with  me." 

There  were  nods  of  assent.    Jackson  sneered. 

"How  much  of  your  bond  issue  did  Master- 
man handle,  Cowdray?"  he  laughed.  "You'll 
have  to  do  better  than  that,  Masterman.  I'll 
print  such  a  paper  if  it's  offered  to  me." 

"Even  though  it  wrecked  business?"  inquired 
Masterman. 

Jackson  smiled,  crossed  his  knees  and  brought 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  together. 

"Of  course,  Masterman,  it's  clear  that  you  and 
some  of  your  precious  friends  signed  this  mys- 
terious document,  and  it  is  equally  clear  that  it 
must  be  inimical  to  the  interests  of  the  people. 
A  newspaper's  business  is  to  print  the  news. 
What  you  do  is  news.  What  you  do  inimical  to 
the  interests  of  the  people  is  tremendous  news. 
If  I  get  a  crack  at  that  paper  I'll  certainly 
print  it." 

"Though  it  might  mean  the  end  of  the  present 
order?" 

"If  this  republic  can't  stand  the  exposure  of 


i6a  PLUNDER 

the  schemes  of  you  and  your  fellow  highbinders, 
Masterman,  then  heaven  help  the  republic!" 

"You  have  no  patriotism!"  cried  Masterman. 

"Patriotism,  my  dear  man,"  smiled  Jackson, 
"is  capable  of  many  definitions.  I  do  not  define 
it  as  love  for  a  government;  I  define  it  as  love 
for  a  people.  I  do  not  love  the  people — I  despise 
them;  but  I  am  very  sorry  for  them,  sorry  that 
they  have  been  cheated  out  of  their  rights  so 
long.  If  to  restore  to  the  people  their  rights  it 
became  necessary  to  tear  down  the  system  you 
have  corrupted,  then — I'd  tear  down  the  system. 
Am  I  clear?" 

"Exceedingly,"  said  Masterman. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jackson.  "Now,  then,  why 
are  we  here?  You  did  not  call  us  here  to  tell  us 
in  inchoate  terms  of  this  document.  You  called 
us  here  to  get  our  attitude  in  order  that  you  might 
know  what  to  do  in  case  of  our  refusal  to  be 
gulled  by  you.  That  alternative  has  a  news  value, 
of  course,  or  you  would  not  have  invited  us  to 
be  present  to-night.  You  have  something  else 
up  your  sleeve,  Masterman.  What  is  it?" 


PLUNDER  163 

"Will  you  gentlemen  excuse  us  a  moment?" 
Masterman  asked  the  others. 

Obsequious  assents  were  swiftly  given.  In 
response  to  a  nod  Jackson  followed  Masterman 
into  another  room.  There  the  financier  took 
out  his  pocketbook;  he  opened  it. 

"We  are  still  speaking  in  confidence,  Jackson  ? 
Well,  I  had  doubts  of  your  attitude  in  regard  to 
the  matter  we  have  just  discussed.  I  telephoned 
Mr.  Warren  Sheldon  this  evening.  He  imme- 
diately wrote  and  sent  me  this  note.  I  shall  read 
it  to  you. 

"  'My  dear  Mr.  Masterman :  Permit  me  to 
answer  your  telephonic  question  of  ten  minutes 
ago  to  this  effect :  I  have  for  Mr.  Lindley  Jack- 
son the  highest  esteem  and  respect,  though  he 
has  seen  fit  to  pillory  me  as  a  conscienceless  politi- 
cal boss  times  without  number.  But  even  though 
it  has  been  my  misfortune  to  oppose  him  in  the 
past,  it  will  be  my  good  fortune  to  stand  behind 
him  in  the  future  if  you  so  wish.  If  your  inter- 
ests will  be  served  by  his  nomination  for  the 
governorship,  rest  assured  that  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  me  to  serve  you.  With  the  highest  esteem, 
"  'Yours  sincerely, 

"  'WARREN  SHELDON.'  " 


164  PLUNDER 

Warren  Sheldon  had,  the  year  previously, 
snatched  a  nomination  from  the  hands  of  Jack- 
son. And  now  the  great  boss  was  to  stand 
behind  him — if  Jackson  willed.  Jackson  smiled. 

"Because  I  have  sometimes  admitted  that  I  do 
not  believe  the  people  have,  as  a  mass,  any  com- 
mon sense,  people  like  you  think  I  am  a  hypo- 
crite in  fighting  for  their  rights.  I  don't  blame 
you;  small  minds  understand  only  small  natures. 
But  confound  you,  Masterman,  I  can't  be  bought. 
I'm  a  newspaper  man  first,  last,  and  all  the  time ! 
I  want  the  news,  and  the  public  wants  me  to 
give  it  to  them!  The  public  I  serve  because  it 
ought  to  be  served,  whether  it  appreciates  service 
or  not.  I  want  no  more  of  your  confidences  or 
your  bribes.  You  have  news  for  my  paper? 
Then  give  it  to  me  now!" 

.There  was  a  silence  in  the  room,  broken,  as  an 
hour  earlier,  by  the  strokes  of  the  clock  in  the 
near-by  tower.  Only  this  time  the  clock  struck 
twelve.  rAnd  before  its  last  deep  tones  had  died 
away,  in  the  next  room  Martin  Masterman  was 
making  an  announcement. 

"To-morrow,  morning,  gentleman,"  he  said, 


PLUNDER  165 

"the  transportation  lines  of  this  city  will  issue 
universal  transfers  to  all  passengers.  I  bespeak, 
on  behalf  of  the  corporations  interested,  your 
own  and  the  public's  tolerance  until  the  new 
system  has  had  a  chance.  It  will  take  time  to 
print  the  millions  of  transfer  tickets  needed. 
There  will  be  necessary  reconstruction  of  many 
things."  He  paused.  The  cup  of  defeat  was  bit- 
ter. "This  step  is  being  taken  for  the  benefit 
of  the  public,  because  the  companies  feel  it  is 
the  public's  due,"  he  concluded. 

Only  Lindley  Jackson  dared  to  laugh  at  the 
last  words  of  the  grim-faced  man  who,  all  under- 
stood vaguely,  had  waged  some  sort  of  losing 
fight  that  night,  but  at  the  gravity  of  whose  defeat 
not  even  Jackson  could  guess.  Martin  Master- 
man  had  invoked  the  aid  of  the  press  and  had 
lost!  For  if  ninety-nine  papers  concealed  what 
another  paper  printed,  to  the  hundredth  shall 
come  the  victory.  Which  is  one  of  the  reasons 
why  the  press  must  be  honest. 

Silently  and  swiftly  the  publishers  departed. 
News  articles  must  be  written,  editorials  prepared. 
At  twenty  minutes  past  one  the  first  editions 


166  PLUNDER 

were  on  the  street,  declaiming,  in  deep  head-lines, 
the  news  which  was  to  save  a  million  nickels  a 
day  to  the  people  of  New  York,  and  which  was 
really  the  announcement  of  the  first  victory  in 
Kirby  Rowland's  war. 


XI 


IT  WAS  Grant's  first  intention  to  call  upon 
those  of  Kirby's  friends  with  whom  she 
might  have  taken  refuge,  but  his  second  thought 
showed  him  the  folly  of  this,  not  to  speak  of  the 
waste  of  time.  It  would  be  better  to  telephone, 
though  his  anxiety  for  her  safety  could  hardly 
brook  the  time  required  for  telephoning.  But  if 
Greenham  knew  enough  to  find  out  Kirby's 
address,  the  chances  were  that  he  knew  enough 
to  put  men  to  work  tracing  Kirby's  social  rela- 
tionships. One  of  the  Greenham  men  might 
have  found  Kirby  already.  He  would  be  losing 
time  chasing  from  place  to  place.  Four  num- 
bers he  called  without  result;  Kirby  was  not  at 
these  places,  nor  had  her  friends  seen  her.  But 
the  fifth  call  was  answered  by  a  voice  that  always 
thrilled  young  Grant. 

"Kirby!"  he  gasped.    "Then  you're  all  right?" 
167 


168  PLUNDER 

"Why,    how    did    you    know?      Aren't    you 


in 


"Be  right  over,"  he  interrupted.  "Don't  you 
dare  leave!" 

He  had  phoned  from  a  drug  store  that  was 
not  many  blocks  distant  from  the  apartments 
where  Kirby's  friend  lived.  A  car  left  him  a 
few  steps  from  her  door  in  five  minutes.  Another 
minute  and  Kirby  had  admitted  him  to  the 
apartment. 

"Alone?"  he  asked. 

She  blushed ;  whereupon  he  put  his  arms  round 
her.  Then  she  led  him  into  the  drawing-room. 

"What  happened?"  he  demanded. 

She  told  him  of  her  escape,  and  of  her  coming 
to  the  apartment  of  Jessie  Sigmund,  a  fellow 
artist 

"I  wanted  to  get  somewhere,  to  think,  to  plan. 
I  phoned  Jessie  and  told  her  that  I  wanted  her 
to  put  me  up  for  the  night.  Jessie  isn't  the  kind 
to  ask  questions,  you  know.  She  told  me  to 
come  over,  and  offered  to  break  an  engagement 
she  had  made  for  the  evening  if  I  wished  her 
to.  But  I  didn't.  So,  as  she  was  going  right  out, 


"He  wants  that  paper  for  the  money  in  it" 


PLUNDER  169 

she  left  the  key  with  the  elevator  boy.  But  why 
aren't  you  in  Jersey?  How  did  you  know " 

He  told  her  of  his  experiences. 

"Mack,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "saved  us  both. 
Why?" 

"Underneath  his  crookedness  and  cruelty,"  she 
suggested,  "he  must  have  a  streak  of  chivalry 
that  made  him " 

"Not  Mack!"  laughed  Grant.  "He  had  his 
reasons,  but  chivalry  was  not  among  them.  It 
wouldn't  account  for  his  tipping  me  off  that  you 
weren't  at  home,  but  that  some  one  else  probably 
was  there.  No,  not  chivalry.  And  yet,  what  was 
his  reason?  He  hadn't  experienced  a  change  of 
heart,  Kirby.  He  wants  that  paper  for  the  money 
in  it.  It's  beyond  me!" 

"Me  too,"  she  said.  There  was  silence  while 
both  thought. 

"Dick,"  she  asked  at  length,  "what  are  we 
going  to  do — you,  I  mean  ?  You  won't  leave  the 
city?" 

"I've  thought  it  all  over,"  he  answered,  "and 
I  absolutely  refuse  to  leave  you  alone  to  face 
Masterman  and  Mack.  I'm  going  to  stay." 


170  PLUNDER 

"Where?" 

"Oh,  I'll  find  a  hundred  places,"  he  answered 
easily.  "But  you  ?  Where  will  you  stay  ?" 

"Here  with  Jessie." 

He  laughed.  "How  long  before  Greenham's 
men  will  be  here  looking  for  you?  You  slipped 
away  once,  Kirby,  but  they'll  take  care  not  to 
let  you  again.  We  must  think " 

The  door-bell  rang.    They  started. 

"Don't  answer,"  whispered  Kirby. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  hallboy  knows  I  entered." 

He  started  for  the  door,  but  she  ran  in  front 
of  him. 

"If  it's  one  of  Greenham's  men  I  may  be  able 
to  put  him  off.  Don't  let  him  see  you." 

She  half  pushed  him  into  the  little  den  off  the 
drawing-room,  and  then  she  opened  the  front 
door.  His  eye  at  the  crack  in  the  den  door,  Grant 
saw  a  man  face  Kirby. 

"Miss  Sigmund?"  he  inquired. 

"Well?"  said  Kirby. 

"I'm  looking  for  a  friend  of  yours — Miss 
Kirby  Rowland.  Is  she  here?" 


PLUNDER  171 

"Miss  Rowland?  There  is  no  other  woman 
here,"  said  Kirby.  Though  her  back  was  to  him 
Grant  guessed  the  expression  on  her  face;  the 
slightly  raised  eyebrows,  the  faintly  quizzical 
expression,  with  a  touch  of  superiority  in  the 
eyes ;  the  hint  of  a  haughty  curl  to  the  lips. 

"Then  you  ain't  seen  her  to-day,  Miss  Sig- 
mund?"  persisted  the  man,  politely  abashed. 

"And  if  I  had,  is  there  any  reason  why  I  should 
inform  utter  strangers  of  the  fact?  What  is  your 
business  with  Miss  Rowland?  You  look,  if  I 
may  say  it  without  offense,  like  a  detective." 

"No  offense  at  all,  ma'am.  That's  me.  I'm 
lookin'  for  the  young  lady,  and  I  want  her  bad." 

"Want  Kirby  Rowland?  What  on  earth  ha> 
she  done?"  Amazement  was  in  every  syllable. 

"Why,  nothin',  ma'am — leastwise,  nothin' 
criminal,  I  don't  think.  But  I  got  a  friend  that's 
mighty  anxious  to  see  her  and " 

"I  can't  believe  any  such  thing,"  snapped 
Kirby.  "You — you're  insulting!  Miss  Rowland 
is  well  known  to  me.  Good  evening!" 

She  closed  the  door  upon  an  utterly  crestfallen 
detective.  It  was  not  what  she  had  said;  it  was 


172  PLUNDER 

the  timbre  of  her  voice,  the  lightning  play  of 
expression  upon  her  mobile  features.  There  was 
abjectness  almost  in  the  man's  manner  as  he 
backed  away.  Kirby  Rowland  could  play  the 
grandc  dame  as  well  as  any  tragedy  queen.  She 
laughed  as  Grant  emerged  from  the  den. 

"Did  I  do  well?"  she  asked. 

He  did  not  answer  as  he  walked  swiftly  across 
the  room,  raised  the  shade  a  few  inches  and  knelt 
on  the  floor,  peering  from  the  side  of  the  win- 
dow lest  the  electric  light  cast  his  shadow  and 
betray  his  watchfulness. 

"You  did  well,  Kirby,"  he  then  said  softly,  "but 
the  game  isn't  over  yet."  He  watched  a  moment, 
then  beckoned  to  her.  He  made  room  for  her 
to  look  out.  "In  that  areaway  opposite.  See 
him — just  a  blotch  in  the  shadows?" 

Kneeling  side  by  side  they  looked  at  each  other. 

"And  what  does  that  mean?"  she  asked 
nervously.  "Didn't  he  believe  that  I  was  Jessie  ?" 

He  rose  and  helped  her  up. 

"Undoubtedly  he  did — and  does.  But,  Kirby, 
I  wonder  if  either  of  us  realizes  the  immensity  of 
the  forces  we've  set  in  motion  against  ourselves? 


PLUNDER  173 

That  was  a  Greenham  operative,  as  they  call 
them,  no  doubt  of  that.  Why  did  he  come  here? 
Because  he  had  learned  that  Miss  Sigmund  is  one 
of  your  friends.  Why,  not  finding  you  here, 
hasn't  he  gone  on  to  some  other  of  your  friends? 
Because,  Kirby,  there's  a  Greenham  man  watch- 
ing the  home  of  every  friend  of  yours  in  the 
city.  Already !  I'll  wager  my  life  on  it" 

"Absurd!"  she  scoffed.  Yet  her  lips  quivered 
slightly,  and  her  eyes  took  on  a  hunted  look. 
"That  would  take Oh,  I  know  scores  of  peo- 
ple— over  a  hundred  whom  I  meet  round  at 
various  places." 

"And  if  there  were  a  thousand  homes  to  watch, 
the  Greenham  shrewdness  and  the  Masterman 
money  would  supply  those  men  by  noon  to-mor- 
row, Kirby.  As  it  is " 

"More  absurd!"  she  said,  though  her  expres- 
sion belied  her  words.  "How  would  they  know 
my  friends?  And  so  soon?  Of  course  I  often 
call  up  Jessie,  and  the  hallboy  at  the  studios  could 
have  given  her  name  and  address ;  but  the  others  ? 
The  ones  I  never  telephone  to  and  do  not  see 
often,  but  that  are  yet  good  friends?" 


174  PLUNDER 

"Every  newspaper  office  keeps  a  department 
devoted  to  clippings  from  its  own  and  other 
papers,"  he  answered.  "Your  name  is  there — 
lots  of  clippings  about  you,  without  doubt,  for 
you're  getting  known  in  the  art  world.  More- 
over, you  attend  various  functions  given  by  peo- 
ple not  without  some  social  prominence.  How 
simple!  One  of  Greenham's  men  looked  up 
'Rowland — Kirby'  in  the  clippings.  He  sees  your 
name  among  the  list  of  guests  at  various  affairs. 
And  the  Greenham  men  are  shadowing  every  one 
of  those  other  guests,  who  may  or  may  not  be 
intimate  friends  of  yours." 

She  was  appalled. 

"Not  really?" 

"I  don't  say  that  it's  been  done  already  to  that 
extent.  At  least  I  doubt  if  every  person  whose 
name  has  been  mentioned  in  the  same  item  with 
yours  has  been  shadowed.  But  by  to-morrow — 
yes !  Kirby,  think  what's  at  stake !  What  is  the 
spending  of  a  few  thousand  dollars  to  Masterman 
now  ?  Miss  Sigmund  will  be  home — at  midnight, 
you  said?  Well,  leave  it  to  that  man  across  the 


PLUNDER  175 

street  to  find  out  the  name  of  every  person  that 
enters  this  apartment  house  from  now  on!  We 
were  lucky  just  now.  The  night  boy  has  come 
on  since  Miss  Sigmund  left ;  he  didn't  know  that 
you'd  got  her  key  from  the  day  boy.  But  when 
she  comes  home  that  man  across  the  street  will 
make  inquiries." 

"And  what  can  they  do  now  that  we  are  pre- 
pared, that  you  are  with  me?"  she  demanded. 
"They  don't  dare " 

"The  Masterman  influence  can  get  a  warrant 
for  your  arrest  on  any  charge,"  replied  Grant 
soberly.  "For  mine  too.  And  we'd  never  reach 
the  police  station.  It  would  be  a  case  of  kidnap- 
ing, pure  and  simple.  Unless  we  took  some  other 
person  into  our  confidence  and  had  them  threaten 
Masterman — but  that  wouldn't  do.  Too  many 
people  knowing  of  it — it  would  be  public  property 
in  a  day  or  so.  And  that  means — we'd  almost 
rather  lose  than  see  anarchy  destroy  this  city,  this 
nation,  wouldn't  we,  Kirby?" 

She  shuddered. 

"But  what  can  I  do  ?"    For  a  moment  she  was 


176  PLUNDER 

helpless,  looking  to  him  for  suggestion.  But  she 
was  the  kind  that  rallies  quickly.  "Of  course! 
I  can  go  to  some  hotel.  Now!" 

"Only  Greenham  and  one  operative  have  seen 
you  so  far,  eh — at  least,  so  far  as  we  know  ?  That 
would  help  a  little,  but  mighty  little.  You  don't 
realize  the  whole  extent  of  the  Masterman  power 
and  the  Greenham  shrewdness.  Kirby,  I'll  bet 
my  last  cent  that  every  hotel  in  the  city  is  on  the 
lookout  for  a  pretty  girl  that  answers  your 
description.  Every  young  woman  that  enters  any 
New  York  hotel  to-night  or  to-morrow  will  be 
looked  over,  shortly  after  registering,  by  a  Green- 
ham  agent.  Every  house  detective  will  have  his 
eyes  peeled  for  you,  not  knowing  why  you're 
wanted,  but  simply  knowing  that  you  are  wanted. 
That  man  who  just  came  in  here — the  last  thing 
in  the  world  he  expected  was  that  you  yourself 
would  answer  the  door  at  his  ring.  Moreover, 
the  light  was  in  his  eyes,  while  your  face  was  in 
shadow,  and  you've  put  on  something  of  Jessie's, 
haven't  you?" 

She  nodded. 


PLUNDER  177 

"She  told  me  I  could  when  I  phoned  her. 
We're  about  the  same  size." 

"Well,  that  helped  some.  He  was  looking  for 
a  girl  who  wore  the  same  sort  of  clothes  you  had 
on  when  Greenham  saw  you.  But  at  a  hotel — 
where  every  girl  will  be  scrutinized,  and  where 
you  couldn't  always  have  your  face  in  the  shadow, 
and  where  suspicion  will  be  pointing  toward  you 
because  you  are  young,  pretty  and  alone — it 
won't  do,  Kirby." 

"I  don't  suppose  it  would,"  she  answered 
thoughtfully.  "But  there  are  hundreds  of  board- 
ing and  lodging  houses.  There  no  one  would  sus- 
pect anything,  unless  my  description  were  printed 
in  the  papers,  and  Masterman  dare  not  do  that, 
for  fear  of  what  I  may  do  in  retaliation." 

"Right,"  he  admitted.  "But,  Kirby,  you  can't 
be  chasing  round  to  a  lodging  house  to-night. 
You  have  no  baggage,  either." 

"Jessie's,"  she  said.  "I  could  borrow  a  suit- 
case and  stock  it  and  to-morrow  return  the 
things,  after  buying  others  for  myself." 

"It  might  be  done,"  he  agreed  slowly,  "and 
still " 


178  PLUNDER 

Again  a  ring  at  the  door.  Like  a  flash  he 
leaped  to  the  window,  and  kneeling,  looked  out. 
The  blotch  was  still  visible  in  the  deepening 
shadows  of  the  areaway.  He  arose  and  tiptoed 
into  the  den.  She  looked  a  question  at  him.  He 
pointed  toward  the  window. 

"Still  outside,  so  it's  not  he,"  he  whispered. 
"Open." 

From  behind  the  den  door,  as  before,  he 
watched,  ready  to  leap  to  her  rescue  if  need  arose. 
He  dared  not  answer  the  door  himself  lest  another 
Greenham  detective  be  there  and  his  presence  in 
some  manner  arouse  suspicion.  While  Kirby 
was  probably  being  sought  more  earnestly  than 
himself,  she  had  deceived  the  first  Greenham  man 
and  it  was  probable  she  could  do  the  same  thing 
again.  It  was  not  cowardice  that  made  him  seek 
concealment,  it  was  Common  sense.  For  if  this 
were  a  Greenham  agent  ringing  at  the  door,  the 
failure  of  Kirby  to  open  it  as  she  had  done  for 
the  other  man  would  inevitably  make  the  man 
anxious  for  a  good  look  at  her.  Whereas,  if  she 
went  to  the  door  her  very  boldness  would  win 
again.  Then  he  laughed  silently  from  his  watch- 


PLUNDER  179 

ing  place  as  Kirby  opened  the  door  and  disclosed 
the  cause  for  all  this  wild  reasoning — a  dimin- 
utive and  most  worldly  messenger. 

"Miss  Jessie  Sigmund,  lady?  Message  for 
youse,  ma'am.  Kin'ly  sign  here,  an'  don't  forget 
the  han'some  blond  that  brings  the  good  nooze.  I 
always  loves  to  bring  telegrams  to  the  ladies, 
ma'am,  because  they're  so  gen'rous.  God  bless 
their  lovely  eyes." 

He  inhaled  smoke  from  his  cigarette,  tipped  his 
cap  a  trifle  to  one  side,  and  looked  at  Kirby  with 
all  the  harmless  impudence  of  a  cocky  young 
sparrow.  He  was  about  sixteen,  but  an  old  man 
in  experience.  Silently  Kirby  tipped  him,  and 
closed  the  door  upon  his  thanks. 

"Did  you  see  his  eyes,  Dick?"  she  asked. 
"There  were  pouches  beneath  them,  and  they 
were  old,  old!  And  his  hand  shook.  Sixteen 
or  seventeen — no  more.  And  look  at  him!  He 
never  was  a  child;  he  has  had  no  youth.  It's 
for  him,  and  thousands  like  him,  that  we  are 
fighting — that  they  may  have  a  fairer  chance; 
that  the  children  may  see  green  fields  and 
breathe  fresh  air !  At  times  to-day  I've  wondered 


i8o  PLUNDER 

if  I  dared  go  on.  But  there  are  thousands  of  boys 
like  him,  right  in  this  city,  who  will  never  have 
a  chance,  unless  those  who  make  conditions  that 
raise  a  boy  like  that  are  forced  to  make  better 
conditions.  Dick,  the  universal  transfer  is  but 
the  measure  of  our  sword.  If  we  succeed  in  our 
first  move,  what  more  may  we  not  accomplish? 
We  can't,  we  won't  give  up!" 

"Give  up,  Kirby?  Why,  the  fight  is  hardly 
started.  But  what  about  that  telegram?" 

She  was  holding  it  at  arm's  length.  Tele- 
grams held  for  her  the  dread  they  hold  for  all 
women  who  receive  them  rarely.  She  continued 
to  stare  at  it. 

"Poor  Jessie,"  she  said  slowly;  "her  father  may 
be  dead." 

Grant  laughed. 

"Kirby,  a  moment  ago  you  frightened  me.  I 
thought  you  were  an  avenging  angel,  and  angels, 
as  I  understand  it,  never  marry.  Now  I  know 
you're  a  woman,  and  women  do  marry,  don't 
they?" 

She  flashed  a  smile  that  was  his  answer. 

"But  what  shall  I  do  with  this?"  she  asked 


PLUNDER  181 

"Why,  put  it  on  a  table  where  Jessie  will  see 
it  the  first  thing  when  she  comes  home." 

"But  supposing  it's  very  important.  She'd 
want  to  know." 

"You  know  where  she  went  ?  Then  phone  her 
and  tell  her  that  it's  here." 

"And  frighten  her  half  to  death!  Men  are  so 
silly!"  she  exclaimed. 

"All  right,"  he  chuckled;  "we're  back  where  we 
started.  Put  it  on  the  table." 

"But  supposing  it's  very  important?  It  will 
be  hours  and  hours " 

"Then  open  it  yourself,"  he  suggested.  "If 
it's  news  she  ought  to  have  it  telephoned  her. 
If  it  isn't  you  can  easily  explain " 

"I  wonder  if  I  ought  to?" 

"I  refuse  to  make  the  final  decision,"  he  smiled. 
"You  know  Jessie  pretty  well ;  it  wouldn't  be  pry- 
ing curiosity  that  would  make  you  open  it.  She 
couldn't  very  well  be  offended." 

She  opened  the  message  and  read  it;  then  she 
looked  at  Grant.  Tiny  lines  appeared  at  the 
corners  of  her  eyes;  her  mouth  pursed  bewitch- 
ingly  in  puzzlement. 


182  PLUNDER 

"Listen,"  she  commanded.     She  read: 

"  'Inform  Mastermans  can  not  leave  Denver 
for  three  weeks.  Going  on  camping  trip. 

"  'ADELE.'  ' 

» 
"What's  the  answer?"  he  inquired. 

"You  don't  read  the  art  news,  do  you?  Not 
so  much  as  I  do,  anyway.  This  telegram  is  from 
Adele  Rohan,  a  great  friend  of  Jessie's — they 
were  together  in  the  Latin  Quarter  in  Paris. 
She's  a  portrait  painter  who's  created  a  furor  in 
the  last  year.  A  genius,  with  all  of  genius' 
eccentricities.  It  was  in  the  papers  a  month  ago 
that  Masterman  had  commissioned  her  to  paint 
the  portrait  of  his  little  girl.  You've  read  of 
her — Laurel  Masterman,  his  invalid  daughter? 
Jessie  told  me  at  the  time  that  she'd  be  surprised 
if  Adele  ever  executed  the  commission.  She  hates 
the  very  rich.  She's  half  French  and  half  west- 
ern, you  know,  with  the  exuberance  of  both 
temperaments.  This  is  her  method  of  flouting 
Masterman's  millions.  She  wires  a  friend  to 
inform  Masterman ;  doesn't  bother  to  inform  him 
herself.  Going  on  a  camping  trip  when  a  ten- 


PLUNDER  183 

thousand-dollar  commission  is  awaiting  her 
pleasure!  And  Jessie  told  me  that  Masterman 
and  Adele  had  never  met.  He  simply  saw  some 
of  her  portraits  of  children  at  the  last  exhibi- 
tion at  the  Academy,  and  wrote  to  her.  He's 
never  seen  her!" 

Her  words  were  crisp  and  clear  and  her  teeth 
met  sharply  over  the  last  of  them. 

"Well?"  said  Grant. 

"He's  going  to  see  her  to-night!" 

"Still  I  don't  understand,  Kirby." 

"Men  are  stupid,"  she  smiled.  "Look,  m'sieu, 
upon  Ma'mselle  Rohan,  combination  of  cow- 
puncher  and  danseuse !  Look !  For  you  may  not 
have  a  chance  again,  m'sieu.  I  might  flout  you  in 
a  second  and  refuse  to  talk  with  you.  I  am  a 
genius;  no  mere  worker  at  miniatures,  unknown 
and  humble.  I  am  Ma'mselle  Rohan,  m'sieu,  and 
if  you  read  the  papers  and  believe  them,  you 
must  know  that  I  have  all  the  grace  of  a  French- 
woman and  all  the  strength  of  a  broncho-buster. 
Also,  I  am  eccentric,  rude  and  careless  as  to 
whom  I  offend.  I  despise  millionaires.  I  work 
when  it  suits  me;  I  come  when  I  choose  and  I 


1 84  PLUNDER 

leave  in  the  middle  of  a  portrait  if  the  mood 
seizes  me.  For,  m'sieu,  I  am  Adele  Rohan,  and 
a  genius  before  whom  mere  riches  bow  down. 
Do  you  understand?  Look?" 

And  she  tore  the  telegram  across  and  across 
again,  dropping  the  pieces  in  a  waste-basket. 

"Kirby,  you  wouldn't!  It's  madness.  I 
won't  permit " 

"We  aren't  married  yet,  Dick,  you  know." 

"But  the  risk !  Masterman  may  not  know  Miss 
Rohan,  but  his  friends " 

"I  told  you  she  was  eccentric.  She  knows  no 
one  in  New  York  but  Jessie.  She  divides  her 
time  between  Colorado  and  Paris;  she  is  in  New 
York  merely  between  ocean  liner  and  transconti- 
netal  train.  And  even  if  some  one  who  has  met 
her  in  Paris  or  Denver  should  see  me — there  is 
risk  in  everything,  Dick.  Where  else  can  I  go  in 
safety?  Some  boarding  house?  I  refuse.  The 
risk  of  this  other  scheme  tempts  me.  And, 
besides,  what  was  it  you  said  a  moment  ago? 
The  man  who  came  here — the  last  thing  in  the 
world  he  expected  was  for  me,  in  flight  from  his 
fellows,  to  answer  the  bell.  Will  Masterman 


PLUNDER  185 

dream  that  I  dare  go  to  his  own  house  ?  Remem- 
ber Poe's  story  of  the  purloined  letter.  The  safest 
hiding-place  is  the  most  obvious;  no  one  thinks 
you  will  be  there.  I  am  going  to  Martin  Master- 
man's." 

He  knew  how  useless  it  was  to  battle  against 
her  will  when  this  reckless  mood  was  upon  her. 
Moreover,  there  was  hard  common  sense  in  what 
she  proposed.  She  must  go  somewhere  to  hide. 
Why  not  in  Masterman's  house?  Still  he  ob- 
jected. 

"Supposing  Miss  Rohan  comes  on  after  all? 
You'd  be  arrested  as  an  impostor." 

"I  can  risk  that,  Dick,  in  a  war  like  this." 

"But  how  will  you  manage?  You  haven't 
clothes " 

"I  will  take  Jessie's  suit-case  with  a  few 
things ;  I'll  leave  a  note  telling  her  what  I've  bor- 
rowed. To-morrow  I'll  go  shopping.  I'll  say 
my  trunk  is  on  the  road  somewhere.  I  have 
plenty  of  money;  I  took  all  that  was  in  the  apart- 
ment— two  hundred  dollars."  She  looked  sud- 
denly at  him.  "And  you,  Dick,  have  you  any 
money?" 


i86  PLUNDER 

He  smiled  assurance. 

"All  I  own  in  the  world  is  in  my  pocket,  Kirby. 
I'm  stronger  financially  than  you  are.  I  have 
three  hundred  dollars.  Not  enough  to  make  it 
worth  while  to  bother  with  a  bank-account,  and 
it's  always  with  me.  I'm  all  right.  Do  you  really 
insist  on  going  to  Masterman's  house?" 

"I  do.  From  there  I'll  dictate  terms  and  never 
be  suspected.  And  you  can  telephone  me  in  per- 
fect safety.  Ask  for  Miss  Rohan.  Dick,  what 
we've  started  we  must  finish,  mustn't  we?  I  am 
certain  God  is  with  us." 

"He  is  always  on  the  side  of  justice,"  he 
answered. 

"Then  since  we  work  for  justice,  there  is  no 
wrong  in  my  impersonating  Adele  Rohan.  And 
luckily  I  can  paint  a  large  portrait  as  well  as  a 
miniature.  By  the  time  she  is  due  here  I  will 
have  worked  out  our  plans — with  your  help,  for 
we  must  see  each  other.  And  after  that  let  Mas- 
terman  find  out,  I  don't  care.  But  where  will 
you  be?"  she  asked  with  quick  concern. 

"In  some  lodging  house,"  he  told  her.  "I'll 
be  safe;  but,  Kirby,  go  slow.  Let's  see  how  this 


PLUNDER  187 

transfer  business  works  out  before  we  demand 
more.  You  know  it's  the  custom  of  the  ages 
after  all,  and  you  and  I — well,  let's  go  slow." 

"You  don't  believe  we're  doing  wrong?" 

"No,  not  that.  But  we  want  to  see  how  it 
works  out." 

"It  will  work  out  for  the  benefit  of  the  people 
whose  war  we  wage,"  she  answered. 

She  disappeared  into  a  bedroom,  where  she 
put  some  things  of  Jessie  Sigmund's  into  a  suit- 
case. Then  she  reentered  the  little  parlor  and 
wrote  a  note  to  Jessie.  It  was  a  request  to  keep 
her  visit  secret,  and  to  forgive  her  for  not  wait- 
ing to  see  her  friend. 

"It  will  do,"  she  said,  after  reading  it  to  Dick. 
"Jessie  is  my  dearest  girl  friend,  and  what  would 
make  another  suspicious  will  not  have  that  effect 
on  her." 

"But  you  don't  tell  her  about  the  telegram," 
remonstrated  Dick. 

"And  give  the  whole  game  away  ?  That  would 
be  bright!" 

He  flushed. 

"I'm  dull.    But  we  better  not  leave  the  pieces 


1 88  PLUNDER 

of  the  message."  He  drew  them  from  the  basket 
and  burned  them.  They  looked  about  the  apart- 
ment as  a  ship-wrecked  couple  might  look  at  the 
island  that  had  given  them  succor,  and  which  they 
dreaded  leaving  for  the  flimsy  craft  they  had  con- 
structed themselves. 

Then,  having  telephoned  for  a  taxi  and  learned 
that  it  waited  below,  they  left  the  apartment. 
Kirby  gave  the  key  to  the  night  hallboy,  and  did 
not  wait  to  notice  if  he  was  surprised.  Undoubt- 
edly he  was,  for  the  Greenham  operative  had 
given  him  a  generous  tip,  and  almost  immediately 
he  crossed  the  street  and  told  the  waiting  detec- 
tive that  it  could  not  have  been  Miss  Sigmund 
who  had  opened  the  apartment  door  for  him. 
But  by  that  time  the  taxicab  had  rounded  a  corner 
and  was  gone.  Later  its  chauffeur  informed  the 
Greenham  operative  that  he  had  dismissed  his 
charges  at  the  terminal,  but  no  one  there  remem- 
bered having  seen  a  couple  who  answered  to  the 
descriptions  of  Kirby  and  Dick  either  take  a  train 
or  another  taxi.  The  reason  was  obvious.  They 
had  separated.  Kirby  had  crossed  the  street  and 
taken  a  taxi  alone,  for  the  house  of  Martin  Mas- 


PLUNDER  189 

terman.  Dick  had  gone  to  the  express  office  and 
ordered  the  suit-case  sent  to  Miss  Adele  Rohan, 
care  of  Martin  Masterman.  Then  he  had  van- 
ished into  the  subway. 

While  Terence  Greenham  reported  to  Master- 
man, and  while  the  obstinacy  of  Lindley  Jackson 
prevented  Masterman  from  defying  Kirby's 
demands,  that  young  woman,  thoroughly  worn- 
out  by  her  exciting  day,  was  sleeping  in  an  apart- 
ment provided  by  the  nervous  elderly  wife  of 
Masterman,  who,  born  to  comparative  poverty, 
had  never  really  grown  used  to  wealth — at  least, 
not  so  used  to  it  that  she  dared  snub  genius.  And 
genius  had  very  bruskly  refused  to  talk,  but  had 
demanded  to  be  shown  her  room.  She  even 
refused  to  look  at  the  sleeping  child  whom  she 
was  to  begin  painting  on  the  morrow  or  soon 
after.  For  Kirby  had  heard  Terence  Greenham's 
voice  as  she  passed  the  financier's  library,  with 
Mrs.  Masterman,  and  bed  seemed  the  safest 
haven  for  her. 


XII 


IN  HIS  sanctum  in  the  Citizen  office  Lindley 
Jackson,  the  editor,  read  the  morning  papers 
•and  such  afternoon  editions  as  were  already  off 
the  press.  And  all  save  his  own  paper  treated 
the  universal  transfer  story  in  the  same  fashion. 
A  Blow  to  Government  Ownership!  Corpora- 
tions Have  Souls!  Consolidated  Car  Lines  Con- 
fer Benefit  on  Public!  Big-Hearted  Corporation 
Puts  Public  Above  Dividends!  Of  this  sort  were 
the  headings  above  the  editorials,  and  the  mat- 
ter below  the  headings  was  full  of  praise  for 
Masterman  and  his  associates.  Martin  Master- 
man  had  struck  a  giant  blow  at  the  theory  of  gov- 
ernment ownership.  He  had  shown  that  privately 
owned  monopolies  held  the  public's  interests  close 
to  their  hearts.  When  a  whole  city  had  uncom- 
plainingly been  paying  two  fares  for  a  ride  in 
subway  and  surface  cars,  or  three  fares  if  they 
also  rode  in  the  elevated,  Martin  Masterman  had 

190 


PLUNDER  191 

freely  and  cheerfully  ordered  the  consolidated 
companies  to  issue  transfers  from  one  line  to  the 
other  or  others.  All  hail  to  Martin  Masterman, 
the  man  who  put  the  soul  in  corporations! 

Thus  spoke  the  sheets  owned  by  the  men  who, 
with  Jackson,  had  conferred  with  the  three  mil- 
lionaires the  previous  night.  But  not  so  the  Citi- 
zen, owned  by  Lindley  Jackson,  yellow  journalist, 
genius  and  champion  of  the  people.  Jackson 
turned  to  his  own  paper  and  reread  his  own  edi- 
torial, hastily  written  the  previous  night.  It  was 
headed,  A  Gambler's  Underhandedness,  and  was 
about  as  savage  a  roast  as  Masterman  had  ever 
suffered. 

Without  mincing  words,  Jackson  charged 
Masterman  with  having  organized  a  conspiracy 
to  sell  a  stock  short,  and  then  granted  universal 
transfers  in  order  that  the  market  value  of  the 
Consolidated  Car  Lines  stock  might  be  depressed, 
affording  Masterman  an  opportunity  to  buy  in  at 
fifty  what  he  had  sold  round  ninety.  Master- 
man's  greed  was  too  well  known  for  the  Citizen 
to  have  any  faith  in  his  sudden  altruism.  Martin 
Masterman  did  nothing  without  a  reason;  money 


I92  PLUNDER 

was  his  only  reason;  therefore,  to  enrich  his 
private  pocket  he  had  mulcted  his  stockholders 
by  depressing  the  value  of  their  holdings.  Not 
that  the  Citizen  was  against  universal  transfers; 
it  had  always  fought  for  them.  But  this  sudden 
granting  of  the  right  to  the  people  savored  of 
crookedness  toward  the  innocent  stockholders. 
Masterman  could  have  announced  the  plan 
months  ago  and  given  the  market  time  to  readjust 
itself;  as  it  was,  the  innocent  and  ignorant  stock- 
holders would  be  impoverished  and  Masterman 
and  his  clique  would  be  enriched.  The  announce- 
ment was  another  argument  in  favor  of  the  peo- 
ple's control  of  the  things  which  they  had  made 
valuable  by  their  patronage.  For  under  govern- 
ment ownership  men  like  Masterman  could  not 
rob  a  thousand  Peters  to  pay  a  dozen  Pauls. 

There  was  more  along  the  same  line,  and  the 
editorial  was  written  to  give  the  impression  that 
the  editor  could  say  a  whole  lot  more  if  he  chose, 
and  undoubtedly  would  when  he  considered  the 
time  opportune.  Frowning,  Jackson  reread  his 
own  editorial.  In  it  he  had  not  abused  the  confi- 
dence of  last  evening.  The  word  of  Lindley 


PLUNDER  193 

Jackson  was  good.  But  Masterman  had  admit- 
ted that  there  was  a  chance  that  the  mysterious 
paper  of  which  he  spoke  might  find  its  way  into 
the  hands  of  the  publisher,  in  which  case,  of 
course,  Jackson  would  use  it  as  he  saw  fit.  And 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  compelling  chance.  The 
publisher  of  the  Citizen  gloomed  at  his  desk. 

What  was  the  nature  of  the  paper — the  real 
nature — and  how  might  it  be  obtained?  He 
thought  he  knew  the  answer  to  the  first  half  of 
this  question.  Certain  gentlemen,  Masterman 
had  said,  had  agreed  in  that  paper  to  follow  a 
given  course  of  action.  His  own  logic  told  him 
what  that  course  of  action  must  be — to  sell  Con- 
solidated Car  Lines  short.  What  Masterman  had 
said  about  ruining  business  was  tommyrot.  Mas- 
terman was  afraid  that  the  contents  of  that  paper 
would  become  known  to  Jackson;  hence  he  had 
tried  to  tie  up  the  publisher  to  an  agreement  to 
keep  quiet  about  the  paper.  He  had  talked  myste- 
riously of  vague  calamities  which  would  result 
from  publication  of  the  paper,  in  order  to  obtain 
that  withheld  promise  of  suppression.  That  was 
all.  Masterman  feared  that  publication  of  such 


i94  PLUNDER 

an  agreement  would  mean  jail  for  himself,  and 
probably  was  sincere  in  his  statements  about  black 
ruin  to  follow  publication.  For  Masterman 
undoubtedly  believed  that  if  anything  happened 
to  himself  the  country  would  go  at  once  to 
destruction. 

That  was  the  solution  of  Masterman' s  myste- 
rious attitude  and  his  request  of  Lindley  Jackson. 
Jackson  smiled  grimly.  He  would  like  nothing 
better  than  to  put  Masterman  behind  the  bars. 
But  now  as  to  the  other  half  of  the  question — 
how  the  paper  might  be  obtained!  He  could 
find  in  his  fertile  brain  no  answer  to  it. 

Abstractedly  he  turned  over  the  pages  of  the 
Citizen.  On  the  last  page  was  a  story  whose 
heading,  Martin  Masterman  Made  a  Monkey, 
attracted  him.  He  read  it.  It  was  Tom  Hanra- 
han's  account  of  the  swindle  that  had  been  perpe- 
trated on  the  financier  when  he  bought,  for  one 
hundred  and  forty  thousand  dollars,  a  purported 
painting  by  the  late  Mr.  Botticelli. 

It  was  cleverly  written;  it  avoided  stating  that 
the  painting  was  a  fake,  but  pointed  to  that  fact 
that  Harry  Mack,  notorious  international  crook, 


PLUNDER  195 

had  been  arrested  on  a  charge  of  obtaining  money 
by  false  pretenses;  that  the  charge  had  been 
lodged  by  the  Greenhams,  well-known  agents  of 
the  Masterman  interests;  and  contained  an  inter- 
view with  the  crook  in  which  the  latter  refused 
to  deny  that  the  painting  was  a  fraud.  Also  it 
told  of  Harry's  midnight  release,  of  the  attempted 
trailing  of  him  by  the  Greenhams,  and  the  crook's 
escape  in  a  high-powered  car,  the  name  of  the 
driver  of  which  Hanrahan  had  neglected  to  state. 

Jackson  pressed  a  bell;  a  boy  answered. 

"Ask  Mr.  Lyden  who  wrote  the  story  about 
the  Masterman  painting,"  ordered  the  publisher, 
"and  have  him  send  the  reporter  in  to  see  me." 

Hanrahan  had  sauntered  into  the  office  half  an 
hour  ago,  and  was  patiently  waiting  for  an 
assignment  when  the  city  editor  told  him  that 
Jackson  wished  to  see  him.  He  went  at  once  to 
Jackson's  private  office. 

"Sit  down,  Tom.    Have  a  cigar." 

Jackson  respected  the  men  who  gave  him  their 
brains  and  hearts,  and  he  did  not  pose  before 
them.  He  passed  a  panetela  to  the  reporter. 

"How'd  you  drop  on  to  that  story  about  the 


196  PLUNDER 

Masterman  Botticelli  ?  Too  busy  to  talk  with  you 
last  night,  and  didn't  suppose  there  was  any  need. 
You  didn't  report  to  me  that  you'd  learned  any- 
thing about  the  meaning  of  the  conference  at 
Masterman's — I  mean,  nothing  suspicious  hap- 
pened that  I  couldn't  have  seen  myself,  I  suppose. 
Eh?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Hanrahan.  "And  when  I  got 
into  the  office  the  other  boys  told  me  that  you'd 
called  the  sleuthing  off,  so " 

"Sure.  But  about  this  Mack  person?  How 
did  you  tumble  to  it?" 

"Greenham  led  me  to  it,"  grinned  Hanrahan. 

Jackson  tilted  back  in  his  swivel  chair. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  requested. 

The  reporter  told  him. 

"I  saw  Terence  Greenham  at  Masterman's," 
said  the  publisher  thoughtfully,  when  Hanrahan 
had  finished  recounting  his  experiences  of  the 
night  before.  "I've  never  met  him,  but  I  recog- 
nized him.  I  wondered  then  why  he  should  be 
there.  I  wondered  more  after  Masterman  had 
talked  a  while.  I'm  wondering  now." 


PLUNDER  197 

"Doesn't  what  I've  told  you  make  it  clear?" 
asked  Hanrahan. 

"It  would,"  said  Jackson,  "but  for  one  thing." 

"And  that?" 

"Is  that  I've  seen  Masterman's  Botticelli.  It 
was  on  exhibition  at  the  Plaza  last  fall,  and  if  old 
James  B.  Botticelli  himself  didn't  paint  that  pic- 
ture I  never  wrote  an  editorial.  That  painting 
is  no  fake.  I  know  a  little  about  art,  and  the  day 
I  saw  the  painting  I  was  with  Ralph  Reid,  who's 
the  greatest  little  expert  on  Old  Masters  that  ever 
breathed.  Ralph  pronounced  it  original.  That's 
enough  for  me.  It's  a  corking  good  story  and  it 
isn't  libelous,  and  it  makes  a  good  joke  of  Martin 
Masterman,  which  is  very  fine  in  our  business; 
but  just  the  same  this  Harry  Mack  was  stringing 
you.  He  never  sold  a  fake  picture  to  Masterman ; 
and  Greenham's  men  never  arrested  him  on  that 
charge.  It  was  for  something  else.  What?" 

"You  pan  search  me,"  said  the  bewildered 
Hanrahan. 

"Me  too,"  admitted  Jackson.  "But  that  some- 
thing else  has  to  do  with  Martin  Masterman's 


198  PLUNDER 

reasons  for  asking  me  to  be  present  at  his  house 
last  night.  I  gave  my  word  that  I'd  not  divulge 
certain  things  that  were  said  last  night ;  but  I  can 
give  you  a  hint,  Tom.  The  governorship  of  this 
state  is  pretty  enticing  bait,  isn't  it?" 

"It  most  certainly  is!" 

"And  I'm  about  the  last  man  on  earth  that  Mar- 
tin Masterman  would  want  to  see  at  Albany,  eh  ?" 

"I  should  think  so,"  chuckled  Hanrahan,  think- 
ing of  the  multitude  of  attacks  the  publisher  had 
made  on  the  financier. 

"And  yet,  Tom,  it  wouldn't  be  the  hardest 
thing  in  the  world  for  me  to  become  governor 
of  New  York!" 

The  reporter  stared  at  his  employer  in  silence. 
Jackson  leaned  forward  until  his  face  was  close 
to  the  countenance  of  his  reporter. 

"Tom,"  he  said,  "it  would  take  something 
pretty  big  to  make  Martin  Masterman  willing  to 
see  me  governor,  eh?  Something  big!  So  big 
that  we  want  to  know  what  it  is.  I  can't  tell 
you  more;  even  a  confidence  given  to  a  Master- 
man is  inviolate.  But  this  much  I  can  tell  you: 
Martin  Masterman  wasn't  thinking  of  pretty  pic- 


PLUNDER  199 

tures,  whatever  their  value,  last  night;  he  was 
thinking  of  mighty  big  things.  And  Terence 
Greenham  wasn't  at  Masterman's  to  pay  a  social 
call.  He  was  there  on  business — he  must  have 
been — business  so  big  that  even  if  Mack  had 
defrauded  Masterman  it  would  have  been  drop- 
ped for  the  time  being.  But — and  mind  this — the 
Botticelli  is  not  a  fraud,  as  a  dozen  experts  will 
probably  announce  in  the  late  afternoon  papers. 
Why,  then,  did  Terence  Greenham  leave  Martin 
Masterman,  at  a  time  when  Martin  Masterman 
was  scared — I  can  tell  you  that  much,  Tom — 
within  an  inch  of  his  life,  to  go  to  headquarters 
to  release  a  crook  named  Mack?  And  why  did 
his  men  trail  Mack,  or  try  to,  after  his  release? 
Because,  Tom,  this  Mack  has  something  to  do 
with  a  thing  so  big  that  Martin  Masterman,  under 
certain  conditions,  would  gladly  see  me,  me  the 
man  who  hates  him,  in  the  governor's  chair  at 
Albany!  And  what  Mack  has  to  do  with  this 
something  big  we  must  find  out.  Tom,  it's  up  to 
you  to  locate  Mack  and — make  him  talk!  Can 
you  do  it?" 

"Maybe,"  said  Hanrahan  slowly.    "I  can  try." 


200  PLUNDER 

"You'll  have  to  do  more  than  that,  my  boy, 
if  you  want  to  be  managing  editor  of  the  Citi- 
zen." 

"Is  that  the  reward?" 

"If  Mack  talks  the  way  I  think  he  can,  that's 
the  reward.  Now  then,  how're  you  going 
about  it  ?" 

Hanrahan  arose  and  flecked  cigar  ashes  from 
his  coat.  Like  every  other  good  reporter  he 
would  take  an  assignment  to  interview  Satan 
without,  after  his  first  start,  showing  any  sur- 
prise. 

"I'll  look  up  some  of  the  hangouts  where  his 
kind  resort,"  he  answered.  "I  ought  to  be  able 
to  find  him  unless  he's  keeping  almighty  close." 

"Good!"  said  Jackson.  "And  if  you  want  any 
money  drop  in  on  the  cashier.  I'll  phone  him  to 
be  nice  to  you." 

"Thanks,"  grinned  Hanrahan.    "G'-by,  Chief." 

Jackson  grunted.  He  was  already  pressing  a 
button,  and  the  office  boy  entered  almost  as  Han- 
rahan left 

"Tell  Mr.  Lovett  I  want  him,"  said  Jackson. 

Within  a  minute  Lovett,  the  blackmail  man  of 


PLUNDER  201 

the  Citizen,  entered  the  private  office;  but  Jack- 
son did  not  offer  him  the  seat  Hanrahan  had 
vacated,  nor  did  he  invite  him  to  smoke.  There 
was  a  limit  to  Jackson's  friendliness  with  his  men, 
and  Lovett  was  the  limit.  Not  that  Lovett  was 
treated  with  discourtesy.  On  the  contrary,  Jack- 
son treated  him  with  courtesy,  albeit  frigidity. 
One  does  not  insult  the  man  to  whom  one  pays 
one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  week  for  bring- 
ing in  more  news  stories  than  any  other  two  men 
on  the  staff.  And  that's  what  Lovett  did.  But 
no  one,  least  of  all  Lindley  Jackson,  who  used 
him,  respected  him. 

The  blackmail  man  is  one  of  the  by-products 
of  yellow  journalism.  It  is  his  job  to  approach 
politicians  suspected  of  being  venal  and  try  to 
bribe  them,  that  their  corruptibility  and  conse- 
quent shame  may  furnish  reading  matter  for  the 
public.  It  is  the  blackmail  man  who  bribes  cham- 
bermaids to  steal  the  contents  of  waste-paper 
baskets  that  torn-up  letters  may  be  pieced  to- 
gether and  printed  for  the  edification  of  the 
readers  of  the  yellows.  It  is  the  blackmail  man 
who  performs  all  the  dirty  work  of  the  yellows, 


202  PLUNDER 

who  rarely  writes  his  stories,  but  furnishes  the 
news  which  cleaner  men  must  transcribe  into 
print. 

Lovett  was  a  master  of  his  art.  There  was 
nothing  he  would  disdain  to  do  for  money.  Such 
a  man  is  mighty  handy  round  a  yellow  journal, 
although  none  of  his  fellows  ever  invite  him  into 
their  poker  games  or  to  split  a  pint  with  him. 
Lindley  Jackson  despised  the  man.  Yet  it  was 
his  belief  that  the  public  had  a  right  to  know 
something  of  the  private  affairs  of  its  political 
and  financial  leaders.  Such  knowledge  could  be 
obtained  only  by  the  use  of  men  like  Lovett.  Men 
high  in  place  and  shamefully  unfaithful  to  the 
public  trust  had  been  exposed  in  the  Citizen 
through  the  medium  of  Lovett,  and  good  had 
been  accomplished.  So  Jackson  justified  his 
employment  of  Lovett;  but  he  was  not  friendly 
to  him. 

"Lovett,"  he  said  tersely,  "this  man  who  gave 
you  the  tip  last  winter  about  Masterman's  being 
behind  that  water-power  bill — is  he  still  in  Mas- 
terman's employ?" 

Lovett  shook  his  head. 


PLUNDER  203 

"Couldn't  keep  away  from  the  drink,"  he  said. 
"Talked.  Masterman  learned  of  it.  Fired." 
Lovett  never  wasted  anything,  even  words.  It 
was  commonly  said  of  him  that  the  only  thing 
he  ever  spent  was  the  evening. 

"I  see,"  said  Jackson.  "Is  there  any  one  else 
in  Masterman's  office  that  can  be  reached?"  He 
would  not  use  the  word  bribe. 

Lovett  smirked. 

"I've  been  quite  friendly  with  the  telephone 
clerk,"  he  answered.  "That's  the  only  one  I  know 
in  that  office." 

"H'm.  Well,  see  him.  Find  out  if — if  any- 
thing's  been  lost  in  the  Masterman  office.  If 
there  was  any  particular  fuss  raised  about  it.  Get 
all  the  gossip  you  can.  And  stop  at  the  cashier's 
for  money.  Report  as  soon  as  possible." 

When  Lovett  had  left  the  office  Jackson  tossed 
his  cigar  away  in  disgust.  He  had  gone  danger- 
ously close  to  breaking  his  word  when  he  told 
Lovett  to  ask  if  anything  had  been  lost.  Still  he 
had  observed  the  letter  of  the  confidence.  Indeed, 
it  might  be  argued  that  he  had  observed  its  spirit. 

"Anyway,  Masterman  never  fought  fair  in  his 


204  PLUNDER 

life,"  he  told  himself.  "I'm  for  the  people  and 
against  him.  If  I  stick  to  the  letter  of  fairness 
"  So  he  soothed  his  conscience. 

Hanrahan,  meantime,  with  a  curl  of  his  lips  and 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  saw  Lovett  start  in  the 
direction  of  the  private  office.  He  was  able  to 
guess  that  the  blackmail  man  was  to  be  used  to 
ferret  information  from  some  one  near  to  Mas- 
terman — for  he  knew  by  his  chief's  seriousness 
that  something  big  was  in  the  air  and  that  he 
would  not  be  permitted  to  handle  the  case  alone — 
and  glad  that  his  reputation  was  such  that  no 
publisher  dared  ask  him  to  deviate  from  the 
strictest  newspaper  ethics,  he  closed  his  typewriter 
into  his  desk  and  started  for  the  street.  An  office 
boy  caught  him  waiting  for  the  elevator. 

"Some  one  on  the  phone  for  you,  Mr.  Hanra- 
han. Happened  to  see  you  going  out  and  I  chased 
after  you.  Lady  too.  Bet  she's  a  queen !" 

He  grinned  cheerfully  at  the  reporter.  Every 
one  loved  Tom  Hanrahan. 

"I'll  bet  she  is,"  smiled  the  reporter,  and  his 
change  pocket  was  immediately  minus  one  dime, 
and  the  boy  was  enriched  by  exactly  that  sum. 


PLUNDER  205 

Hanrahan  stepped  into  the  booth  the  boy  indi- 
cated. 

"Hello?    This  is  Hanrahan." 

"Oh,  Tom !  I'm  so  glad  I  caught  you.  This  is 
Jessie." 

"And  the  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye,  Jessie  ma- 
vourneen,"  he  laughed. 

He  heard  his  laugh  echoed  nervously,  as  though 
the  girl  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  were  a  little 
overwrought. 

"Why,  what's  wrong,  Jessie  girl?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

"Oh,  Tom,  I'm  a  bit  frightened.  I  don't  know 
just  how  to — I  can't  tell  you  over  the  phone — I 
don't  want  to — something's  happened " 

"Well,"  gasped  Hanrahan,  "if  that  something 
is  happening  in  fifteen  minutes  it's  liable  to  get  a 
swift  punch  on  the  jaw,  for  I'm  coming  up  that 
fast  to  see  you!" 

"Do,"  she  said.  And  again  he  caught  that  note 
of  strain  in  her  voice. 

He  started  again  for  the  street,  this  time  on  the 
run.  If  any  one  had  been  bothering  Jessie  Sig- 
mund  It  happened  that  Jessie's  parents 


206  PLUNDER 

were  rather  strict  and  old-fashioned.  They  loved 
their  daughter  and  she  loved  them;  but  they  did 
not  approve  of  a  young  woman  painting  for 
money.  They  only  tolerated  the  idea  because  they 
loved  her  too  well  to  make  her  unhappy  by  refus- 
ing their  assent  to  her  coming  to  New  York.  It 
also  happened  that  they  did  not  approve  of  news- 
paper reporters — thought  them  wild  carousing 
youths.  So  it  further  happened  that  Jessie  Sig- 
mund  and  Tom  Hanrahan  kept  their  engagement 
very  much  of  a  secret,  waiting  for  the  day  when 
Tom  should  become  a  managing  editor,  or  at  least 
a  city  editor,  before  shocking  Jessie's  folks  with 
the  announcement.  No  wonder  Tom  hurried! 
He  was  closer  to-day,  he  felt,  to  his  goal  than 
ever  before.  He'd  find  Mack,  become  a  manag- 
ing1 editor  and  marry  Jessie.  Meantime,  some- 
thing was  bothering  his  girl.  He  bumped  into  a 
man  and  knocked  him  down  so  great  was  his 
hurry  to  reach  the  elevated. 


XIII 

A  MAN  should  never  put  love  before  duty; 
but  inasmuch  as  it  happened  that  Hanra- 
han's  first  place  of  inquiry  for  Handsome  Harry 
Mack  was  a  rather  low  resort  not  very  far  from 
Jessie  Sigrnund's  apartments,  he  did  not  feel  that 
he  was  neglecting  his  duty  in  calling  first  on  her. 
Moreover,  duty  is  comparative.  A  man  doesn't 
owe  the  same  duty  to  his  boss  that  he  does  to 
his  country.  Private  business  duties  may  well  be 
set  aside  in  favor  of  love.  Anyway,  Tom  Hanra- 
han  made  a  bee-line  for  the  home  of  Jessie  Sig- 
mund.  Arriving  there  he  found  her  in  a  state 
of  alarm  which,  though  quite  a  distance  away 
from  hysteria,  nevertheless,  gave  him  concern. 
He  put  his  arm  round  her,  led  her  to  a  couch  and 
made  her  sit  down. 

"Now  then,  Jessie,  tell  me  what's  happened  to 
you." 

"It's  not  happened  to  me,  Tom,  it's  happened  to 
Kirby." 

207 


208  PLUNDER 

"Miss  Rowland,  the  miniature  painter  ?" 

"Yes,  Tom,  and  I  don't  understand  at  all. 
Th-the  telegram,  the  man  watching  the 
house " 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded  truculently. 
"Where?" 

She  drew  him  to  the  window  and  pointed  at  a 
man  lounging  with  careful  carelessness  down  the 
street  a  bit. 

"He's  been  here  this  morning,  and  he  asked 
for  Kirby.  When  I  said  that  she  wasn't  here 
he  said  that  she  had  been  here,  and  if  I  knew 
where  she  was  I'd  better  tell  him  quick  or  it 
would  be  worse  for  me.  I  shut  the  door  in  his 
face,  and — Tom,  I  don't  understand  it." 

Hanrahan  cast  a  menacing  glance  at  the  uncon- 
scious watcher  down  the  street.  Then  he  drew 
the  girl  once  more  to  the  couch. 

"Now  then,  Jessie,  tell  me  all  about  it — from 
the  beginning." 

His  strength  communicated  itself  to  her;  his 
firm  clasp  steadied  her  nerves.  She  even  essayed 
a  smile. 

"Maybe  I'm  making  a    mountain    out    of    a 


"What's  that  he  demanded— where  ?" 


PLUNDER  209 

molehill,"  she  began.  "Last  night,  or  rather  quite 
early  in  the  evening,  Kirby  phoned  me.  She  said 
that  she  wanted  to  spend  the  night  with  me.  Her 
voice  seemed  kind  of — I  don't  know,  not  exactly 
frightened,  but — worked  up,  I  guess.  I  told  her 
to  come  right  over,  that  I  had  a  dinner-dance 
engagement,  but  that  I'd  gladly  break  it  and  stay 
home  if  she  wished.  She  said  not  to  do  that; 
merely  to  leave  the  key  with  the  elevator  boy, 
which  I  did.  You  know,  Tom,  Kirby  is  my  dear- 
est girl  friend.  We  studied  together,  and  she'll 
be  bridesmaid  at  our  wedding,  if  she  doesn't  do 
it  first — then  she'll  be  matron  of  honor.  You 
haven't  met  her,  for  things  have  always  come  up 
to  prevent,  as  you  know;  but  she's  the  dearest, 
truest " 

"If  you  say  so,  that's  guarantee  enough,"  said 
Tom  stoutly.  "Go  on." 

"Well  I  left  the  key  and  went  off.  I  came 
back  about  midnight.  I  was  at  the  Morrisons' 
dance,  as  you  know,  and  Freeland  Morrison 
brought  me  home.  Well,  the  night  boy  gave  me 
my  key.  I  was  surprised,  but  supposed  that 
Kirby  had  decided  not  to  stay,  and  went  to  the 


2io  PLUNDER 

apartment  here.  On  the  table  I  found  a  note  from 
Kirby  asking  me  not  to  say  anything  about  her 
having  been  here,  and  telling  me  that  she'd  bor- 
rowed a  suit-case  and  some  things  of  mine,  which 
she'd  return  soon.  Here's  the  note." 

She  handed  it  to  Tom  and  he  read  it,  returning 
it  without  comment. 

"Well,"  continued  Jessie,  "I  found  a  letter  on 
my  bureau  that  I'd  forgotten  to  mail,  and  I  rang 
for  the  elevator  boy.  When  he  came  I  gave  him 
the  letter,  and,  out  of  pure  idle  curiosity,  asked 
him  what  time  Miss  Rowland  had  left.  He  re- 
plied that  she  and  the  gentleman  had  gone  out 
about  nine  or  ten,  he  couldn't  remember  just 
when.  He  described  the  'gentleman,'  because  I 
was  curious,  and  it  seems  to  have  been  Dixon 
Grant,  a  young  man  whom  I  know  only  slightly, 
but  who  seems  to  have  been  paying  lots  of  atten- 
tion to  Kirby  lately." 

"You  girls  don't  confide  in  each  other  much, 
for  all  your  chumminess,  do  you  ?"  grinned  Han- 
rahan. 

"Well,"  retorted  Jessie,  "I  can't  talk  about  you 
without  letting  people  know  where  my  heart  is, 


PLUNDER  2ii 

and  that's  a  secret,  isn't  it?  Possibly  Kirby  has 
her  own  reasons  for  not  having  told  me  much 
about  Grant.  Perhaps  he  hasn't  asked  her  yet, 
and  she  hopes  he  will — girls  keep  quiet  when 
things  are  at  that  stage,  you  know." 

"All  right,"  he  smiled.    "What  next?" 

"Well,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  if 
Kirby  had  eloped  with  Dixon  Grant,  and  was  puz- 
zled why  she  should  take  my  clothing  and  not  her 
own,  the  bell  rang  and  a  man  insisted  on  talking 
with  me.  He  said  that  he  wanted  to  know  where 
Kirby  was.  Not  the  man  outside  now,  but 
another  one.  They  both  reminded  me  of  police- 
men, somehow  or  other " 

Tom  whistled  softly. 

"Plain-clothes  men  or  private  detectives,  eh? 
What  did  you  tell  him  ?" 

"I  told  him  I  knew  nothing  about  her,  and  got 
rid  of  him;  but  my  own  curiosity  was  aroused 
then,  and  I  lay  awake  half  the  night  puzzling. 
And  this  morning  a  message  came  to  me  from  the 
telegraph  office.  It  said  that  there  had  been  an 
error  in  the  transmission  of  a  telegram  to  me;  it 
said  that  in  the  message  sent  me  last  night  the 


212  PLUNDER 

word  'three'  had  been  written  instead  of  'two/ 
The  corrected  message  was  to  the  effect  that  Adele 
Rohan — who's  been  commissioned  to  paint  the 
portrait  of  little  Laurel  Masterman — is  going  on 
a  camping  trip,   won't   leave   Denver   for   two 
weeks,  and  wants  me  to  inform  the  Mastermans." 
"Well?    I  don't  get  the  connection." 
"You  will  in  a  moment,"  she  answered.     "I 
didn't  at  first,  because  I  had  not  received  the  orig- 
inal telegram.    But  I  had  noticed  a  piece  of  yel- 
low paper  in  the  fireplace.     I  must  be  a  born 
detective,   Tom,  or  else  I've  imbibed  detection 
from  hearing  you  talk  about  some  of  your  stories. 
I  picked  that  piece  of  paper  out  of  a  little  mass 
of  ashes.     It  was  the  corner  of  a  message  blank. 
It  had  not  been  there  when  I  left  the  apartment 
last  night,  I'm  sure,  so  it's  obvious  that  Kirby  re- 
ceived and  opened  a  message  addressed  to  me.    I 
made  it  certain  by  going  right  to  the  telegraph 
office  and  asking  to  see  the  book  in  which  was  the 
signature  for  the  telegram.     It  was  my  name,  all 
right,  but  Kirby's  handwriting." 

She  paused  a  moment  before  continuing. 


PLUNDER  213 

"Tom,  what  on  earth  does  it  mean?" 

"You  may  search  me,"  he  answered  slowly. 
"Is  Kirby— er— all  there?" 

"The  sanest  girl  I  ever  knew,"  she  answered 
indignantly. 

"H'm!  Then  why  on  earth  should  she  act  so 
queerly?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  find  out,  Tom.  I  think 
a  lot  of  Kirby.  I'm  worried;  I've  phoned  the 
Greenwich  Studios  where  she  lives,  and  they  tell 
me  there  that  she  is  not  at  home.  I  don't  under- 
stand it,  and — Tom,  this  is  a  bad  city  for  a  girl 
alone." 

"Seems  to  me  she  wasn't  alone.  Looks  as 
though  she  had  her  best-beloved  with  her,  doesn't 
it?" 

"But  not  going  home;  borrowing  my  clothes; 
destroying  a  telegram  addressed  to  me — it  isn't 
like  Kirby.  I  don't  understand " 

The  door-bell  rang.  Jessie  stopped  short  her 
speech,  smoothed  her  hair,  and  opened  the  door. 
A  messenger  boy  handed  her  a  telegram.  She 
signed  for  it  and  closed  the  door. 


214  PLUNDER 

"Maybe  this  explains  it,"  she  said.  She  opened 
the  message,  and  her  eyes  expressed  surprise. 

"It's  not  from  Kirby,"  she  said;  "it's  from 
Adele.  She  announces  that  she  has  clianged  her 
mind  once  again,  and  will  leave  Denver  to-day; 
she  hopes  I  have  not  told  the  Mastermans  that  she 
wouldn't  be  here."  She  laughed.  "That's  the 
flighty  brilliant  Adele  always.  But  she  is  a  gen- 
ius and  can  afford  to  do  things  that  poor  plodding 
grubs  like  myself — oh,  well,  I  have  you ;  let  Adele 
have  her  genius!" 

She  flashed  a  smile  on  Tom,  but  she  sobered 
again  at  once. 

"Tom,  you're  the  best  reporter  in  New  York; 
the  best  amateur  detective,  too,  and  that  means, 
with  all  the  newspapermen  in  this  town,  as  good 
as  the  best  professional.  Tell  me,  can  you  find 
Kirby?  Can  you  find  out  what's  happened  to 
her?" 

"I'll  try,"  he  said.  "Know  anything  about  this 
Grant?" 

"I've  heard  her  say  he  was  with  some  brokers. 
Bryant,  Manners  &  Company,  I  think." 

"Brokers  nothing !  Bucket-shoppers,  she  means. 


PLUNDER  215 

Well,  I'll  try  them."  He  did,  on  the  telephone, 
only  to  learn  from  the  careful  telephone  clerk — 
cautioned  by  his  employers,  as  had  been  his  em- 
ployers by  Terence  Greenham,  against  letting  slip 
any  information  whatsoever  as  to  Mr.  Dixon 
Grant — that  Mr.  Grant  was  no  longer  with  the 
firm. 

"Maybe  he's  lost  his  job,"  suggested  Hanrahan. 
"That  might  have  upset  Miss  Rowland." 

But  Jessie  shook  her  head. 

"Kirby  has  plenty  for  both,  I  happen  to  know," 
was  her  objection  to  this  offered  solution.  "But 
that  isn't  all  you  can  do." 

Hanrahan  laughed. 

"Indeed  not!  I'll  'tip  off  the  police  and  have 
them  keep  their  eyes " 

"Police!"  Jessie  was  scornful.  "Indeed  you 
won't,  Tom  Hanrahan !  Have  the  police  looking 
for  Kirby  Rowland!  Absurd!  Why,  Kirby 
would  never  speak  to  me  again.  Is  that  as  clever 
as  you  are,  Tom?  For  if  you  can't  think  of  any- 
thing better  than  the  police  or  the  newspapers — 
look  here,  Tom,  after  all,  Kirby  is  of  age  and 
probably  knows  what  she  is  doing.  That  I  am 


2i6  PLUNDER 

worried  is  no  reason  that  her  private  business 
should  be  known  to  police  and  public.  You  prom- 
ise me  that  you  won't  have  her  name  mentioned 
in  the  papers,  or  told  to  the  police,  or — Tom,  I 
couldn't  forgive  you  if  you  did." 

"Of  course  I  won't,  dear,"  he  promised.  "But, 
as  you  must  see,  that  limits  me.  But  I'll  go  to 
her  apartment — Greenwich  Studios,  you  said? 
All  right.  And  don't  worry,  she's  probably  O.  K. 
If  she  isn't — well,  bad  news  comes  soon  enough. 
Myself,  I  think  that  she's  eloped  with  Grant" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Jessie  fervently.  "Then  we'd 
know  she  was  all  right.  You'll  try  to  find  her, 
though?" 

"I  surely  will,"  he  said.  "And  speaking  of 
finding  people  reminds  me  that  I've  got  to  find 
some  one  for  the  paper  and  I'm  not  doing  it. 
Don't  worry.  By-by,  dear."  He  kissed  her  and 
was  swiftly  gone. 

Comforted  by  his  assurance  that  he  would  find 
Kirby,  Jessie  went  to  the  mirror,  with  deft  fingers 
to  repair  the  damage  to  her  coiffure  done  by  his 
parting  embrace,  and  so  did  not  witness  the  little 
drama  enacted  a  few  rods  down  the  street.  The 


PLUNDER  217 

worthy  Greenham  agent  who  had  relieved  the 
man  who  had  questioned  both  Jessie  and  Kirby 
the  previous  night — this  latter  had  been  clever 
enough  to  avoid  rebuke  from  his  employers  by 
concealing  the  fact  that  he  had  met  Kirby  face 
to  face;  a  fact  he  discovered  shortly  after  the 
real  Miss  Sigmund  came  home — leaned  against 
an  iron  railing,  trying  to  seem  as  though  he  were 
just  a  simple-minded  gentleman  taking  the  air. 
Hanrahan  walked  up  to  him. 

"The  air,"  said  the  reporter  abruptly,  "is  very 
bad  on  this  street.  Do  you  grasp  my  meaning?" 

The  man  stared. 

"Who  you  kiddin'?"  he  demanded. 

"No  one,"  said  Hanrahan;  "I'm  in  deadly 
earnest.  To-day  you  threatened  a  young  lady  by 
the  name  of  Sigmund.  You're  watching  her  place 
now.  Undoubtedly  you  intended  to  keep  an  eye 
on  me.  You  don't  need  to;  here's  my  card — 
Hanrahan,  of  the  Citizen." 

The  man  took  the  card  dazedly. 

"What's  all  this  about?"  he  asked. 

"Just  this — I  want  you  to  beat  it.  Understand  ? 
Move,  vanish,  git!" 


218  PLUNDER 

"Who  you  orderin'  round?"  demanded  the  de- 
tective truculently. 

"You,"  said  Hanrahan.  "If  you  aren't  on  your 
way  in  just  two  seconds,  I'm  going  to  hand  you 
something  that  won't  taste  a  bit  nice.  Further- 
more, I'm  coming  back  here  later,  and  if  I  find 
you  here  I'll  clean  house  with  you.  For  your 
information  and  edification  I'll  inform  you  that 
when  it  comes  to  licking  cheap  detectives  I  am 
the  one  and  only,  blown-in-the-bottle,  original 
White  Hope.  Your  two  seconds  are  up.  Are 
you  going?" 

"Well,  I  like  your  nerve !"  began  the  detective. 
He  didn't  speak  again  for  a  moment,  for  Hanra- 
han's  fist  colliding  with  his  mouth  cut  short  his 
words.  The  reporter  bent  over  the  prostrate  de- 
tective. 

"Are  you  going?" 

"I'll  have  you  pinched,"  mumbled  the  man. 

"And  I'll  get  you  thirty  days  for  annoying  a 
lady!  Are  you  going?" 

The  law  is  even  less  kind  to  annoyers  of  wom- 
en than  Tom  Hanrahan  had  shown  himself.  Also 
it  had  been  impressed  upon  the  Greenham  opera- 


PLUNDER  219 

lives  that  secrecy  was  essential  in  this  present 
mysterious  case.  The  man  shambled  off,  nursing 
a  bleeding  jaw. 

"I'll  get  you !"  he  mumbled.  "I'll  get  you  yet !" 
"So  will  the  goblins,  if  I  don't  watch  out," 
laughed  Hanrahan.  He  watched  the  man  out  of 
sight,  then  continued  toward  the  Greenwich 
Studios.  He  felt  much  better.  Be  he  ever  so 
civilized,  there  is  nothing  so  gratifying  to  a  man 
as  the  discovery  that  he  still  "packs  a  punch." 
Humanity  is  very  human,  after  all. 


XIV 

MOSE,  the  colored  elevator  boy  at  the  Green- 
wich Studios,  glared  at  Tom  Hanrahan. 

"What  you  askin'  me  questions  for  ?  You  an- 
other one  of  dem  bulls?  Believe  me,  mister,  I 
hopes  you  chokes  if  you  is.  Miss  Rowland  she 
had  plenty  annoyance  from  you  people  yesterday, 
and  if  I  knowed  where  she  was  I  wouldn't  tell 
you.  I  just  wisht  I'd  seen  dem  men  lay  a  hand 
on  her ;  I'd  just  about  busted  dem.  Go  long  outa 
here,  white  man!  I  got  nothin'  to  say." 

The  reporter  pulled  a  bill  from  his  pocket.  It 
had  a  V  on  it,  and  would  have  been  able  ordi- 
narily to  purchase  the  soul  of  Mose.  But  not  to- 
day. 

"Put  your  money  away,"  he  growled.  "Ain't 
got  nothin'  to  say;  don't  know  nothin'.  And  just 
you  listen  to  me!  Miss  Rowland,  when  my  wife 
was  sick,  she  got  de  doctor  and  hired  de  nurse, 
and — what  you  take  me  for?  Git  along,  git 
along!" 

220 


PLUNDER  221 

Hanrahan  smiled  in  his  friendliest  fashion. 
The  most  uncommunicative  persons  had  thawed 
before  thai  smile,  and  given  the  reporter  valuable 
information.  The  decent  clean  soul  of  the  man 
showed  in  that  smile. 

"Look  here,"  said  he,  "I'm  a  friend  of  Miss 
Rowland.  I'm  afraid  something  has  happened 
to  her.  You  talk  as  though  something  did  hap- 
pen to  her  yesterday.  What  was  it  ?  I  give  you 
my  word  that  I'm  her  friend." 

The  colored  boy  shuffled  his  feet. 

"Dat  sounds  all  right,  boss,  and  I  believe  you. 
But  dere's  one  of  'em  up-stairs  now,  and  de  owner 
of  dis  house  give  me  orders  to  keep  my  mouth 
closed,  and — you're  dead  sure  you're  a  friend  of 
Miss  Rowland?" 

"Do  you  know  Miss  Sigmund?" 

"De  lady  what's  chummy  with  Miss  Rowland  ? 
Sure  I  do." 

"Call  her  up  and  ask  her  if  it's  all  right  to 
trust  me.  Hanrahan's  my  name." 

Mose  looked  the  reporter  over.  If  ever  a  man 
looked  honest,  Hanrahan  was  the  man. 

"I  ain't  got  such  a  awful  lot  to  tell  anyway," 


222  PLUNDER 

said  the  negro.  "What  dere  is  I'll  tell  you,  boss. 
But  I  dassent  do  it  here.  De  man  up-stairs  might 
come  down  and  see  me,  and  he'd  tell  de  owner, 
and  de  owner  would  fire  me — just  like  dat!" 
And  he  snapped  his  fingers. 

"But  I'll  be  off  for  de  afternoon  in  ten  min- 
utes. De  other  boy '11  be  here  den.  You  jus'  wait 
round  de  corner,  will  you?" 

Considerably  puzzled,  Hanrahan  assented.  In 
less  than  the  specified  time  Mose  met  him. 

"Here's  what  happened,"  he  began.  "First,  a 
gemman  calls  on  Miss  Rowland.  Real  swell.  He 
stays  about  a  minute.  Then  another  gemman 
calls  on  her.  'Pears  like  they're  ol'  friends,  and 
'pears  like  they  ain't.  For  they  both  looks  in  the 
letter  box  as  though  to  find  out  if  she  lives  here, 
but  neither  of  dem  phones  up  to  her  first.  Jus' 
tells  me  to  take  'em  up.  Well,  Miss  Rowland 
comes  down  about  two  seconds  after  de  second 
gemman  calls.  She's  in  a  hurry.  About  three 
minutes  after  dat  I  hears  a  banging  up-stairs.  I 
shoot  de  cyar  up  in  time  to  see  de  second  gem- 
man comin'  through  her  door,  what  he'd  busted 
wid  a  chair.  I  grab  him,  but  he  flashed  a  badge 


PLUNDER  223 

on  me,  an'  I  know  he's  a  bull.  He  outs  of  the 
buildin'  like  a  flash,  an'  I  start  after  him,  wonder- 
in'  what's  up.  But  the  elevator  bell  rings,  an'  I 
has  to  go  back.  , 

"It's  five  minutes  before  I'm  free  to  look  out, 
an'  den,  before  I  gits  to  de  door,  de  first  gemman 
and  de  second  gemman — an'  anodder  gemman, 
dey  all  comes  in.  An'  de  first  one — de  swell 
gemman — an'  de  third  gemman,  is  all  mussed  up 
like  dey  been  scrappin'.  And  it  looks  like  de  first 
gemman  is  pinched  by  de  odder  two.  Well,  I'm 
puzzled  by  all  dis,  an'  refuses  to  let  'em  go  up- 
stairs. But  de  owner  lives  here,  you  know.  Dey 
ask  for  him,  and  dey  buzz  him  in  a  corner,  an' 
it's  all  right.  I  has  to  take  'em  up-stairs.  Well, 
little  while  passes,  and  de  first  gemman  and  de 
second  gemman  comes  out  arm  in  arm,  but  lookin' 
like  de  swell  one  is  prisoner  of  de  other.  And 
de  third  gemman  stay  in  Miss  Rowland's  apart- 
ment, and  de  owner  tells  me  dat  if  she  gets  any 
phone  calls  to  connect  de  third  gemman.  She  only 
gits  one,  and  I  hears  him  tell  the  party  what  calls 
dat  he's  Miss  Rowland's  brother.  Dat  call  came 
jus'  as  I'd  taken  de  two  gemmen  down-stairs.  But 


224  PLUNDER 

de  gemman  what  phones  he  don't  come  down 
here,  and  after  a  while  de  gemman  up-stairs  has 
a  visitor  who's  up-stairs  now — been  dere  all  night, 
takin'  de  place  of  de  gemman  what  answered  de 
phone,  I  guess.  He's  got  a  badge,  too,  for  he 
showed  it  to  me,  and  says  if  I  talks  he'll  put  me 
in  de  cooler  for  eighty  years. 

"An'  dat  ain't  all!  For  when  I  gets  through 
las'  night  de  fruit  man  on  de  corner  tells  me  what 
happened  in  de  street.  'Pears  dat  when  Miss 
Rowland  ran  outa  de  building  a  man  grabs  her. 
He's  got  her  by  de  arm  when  anodder  man  jumps 
on  him  an'  bats  his  jaw.  While  dey're  scrappin' 
Miss  Rowland  ducks  through  a  tenement,  and 
she's  gone.  Den  de  second  gemman  what  busted 
the  door  open  comes  down  with  a  gun,  and — 
well,  dey  comes  back  here,  like  I  tol'  you.  But 
dey  ain't  got  Miss  Rowland,  cuss  'em !  and  I  hopes 
dey  don't,  no  matter  what  she  done.  I'll  bet  she 
ain't  done  nothin'  either,  a  nice  HT  lady  like  her. 
And  dat's  all,  and  for  de  Lawd's  sake,  don't  tell 
no  one  I  told  you,  for  I'd  lose  my  job,  mister." 

Hanrahan  promised.  He  cross-questioned  the 
boy;  got  him  to  describe  the  three  gentlemen. 


PLUNDER  225 

Though  he  did  not  recognize  two  of  them,  he  did 
recognize  the  "first  gemman."  For  that  person 
wore  exactly  the  clothes,  had  the  same  colored 
hair,  and  was  the  same  general  build  as  Harry 
Mack  whom  he  had  left  at  a  Tenderloin  restaur- 
ant at  one  o'clock  that  morning ! 

Harry  Mack!  What  connection  had  he  with 
Kirby  Rowland?  And  who  were  these  other 
two?  The  description  of  one  of  them  might  fit 
Terence  Greenham;  but  Mack's  raiment  had  ab- 
sorbed Mose's  attention  to  the  neglect  of  the  other 
two.  If  only  he  could  be  sure  that  the  others  had 
been  Greenham  men.  But  why  not  be  sure?  It 
was  not  so  very  long  after  this  fracas,  according 
to  the  record  of  Mack's  arrest  which  he  had 
scanned  the  previous  night,  that  Greenham  had 
brought  the  crook  to  headquarters.  Could  there 
be  anything  in  Mack's  tale  of  the  faked  portrait 
after  all  ?  Miss  Rowland  was  an  artist.  Was  it 
conceivable  that  she  was  in  league  with  Harry 
Mack  to  palm  off  fraudulent  Old  Masters  on  un- 
suspecting financiers,  using  her  knowledge  of  art 
in  combination  with  Mack's  knowledge  of  ways 
that  were  evil  ? 


226  PLUNDER 

It  seemed  a  good  theory.  But  Lindley  Jack- 
son had  stated  positively  that  the  Botticelli  was 
an  original!  The  suddenly  evolved  theory  was 
smashed  to  smithereens !  Hanrahan  gave  the  col- 
ored boy  the  five-dollar  bill  and  assured  him  that 
Miss  Rowland  was  guilty  of  nothing,  and  that 
the  people  who  were  pursuing  her  would  land  in 
trouble.  Then,  cautioning  him  to  say  nothing 
about  their  talk,  if  he  really  were  grateful  to  Miss 
Rowland  for  her  many  kindnesses,  he  left  the  boy 
and  started  for  Village  Hall.  But  neither  in  that 
dive,  nor  in  any  of  a  dozen  that  he  visited  that 
afternoon  could  he  find  any  one  who  knew  of 
Harry  Mack  other  than  by  reputation  as  a  big 
gun.  Harry  Mack,  he  decided,  though  a  famous 
crook,  was  not  the  sort  who  traveled  with  the 
cheap  gangsters  who  make  up  the  cream  of  the 
city's  admitted  underworld.  Mack  went  with  only 
the  highest-class  crooks,  and  such  crooks  were 
more  apt  to  live  abroad,  preying  on  their  fellow 
Americans  in  a  foreign  land.  The  Americans  on 
a  vacation,  or  purchasing  art  works,  were  the 
victims  of  Harry  Mack  and  his  kind. 

He  soon  decided  it  was  hopeless  to  attempt  to 


PLUNDER  227 

find  Mack  in  these  haunts  of  the  underworld.  But 
in  certain  hotels  of  the  Tenderloin,  at  night,  a 
man  of  Mack's  vocation  might  be  reasonably  ex- 
pected to  be  found,  unless  he  were  strictly  under 
cover.  Hanrahan  returned  to  his  office.  It  would 
do  no  harm  to  look  up  Mack  in  the  office  files; 
there  might  be  some  record  of  the  man's  life  there 
that  would  tell  him  who,  were  his  criminal  friends, 
if  he  had  any  in  the  city.  And  to  these  Hanrahan 
could  apply  for  information  as  to  the  present  ad- 
dress of  the  crook.  It  was  his  only  chance,  any- 
way. There  were  now  two  reasons  why  Mack 
must  be  located.  He  had  rescued  Kirby  Rowland 
from  the  Greenhams.  Undoubtedly,  therefore, 
he  knew  where  Kirby  was.  And  Kirby  was 
Jessie's  friend.  On  his  way  down-town  to  the 
office  Hanrahan  reviewed  what  he  had  learned. 
He  weighed  all  of  Kirby 's  actions  as  related  to 
him  by  Jessie.  The  girl  was  crazy,  or  else  had  a 
bad  character.  No  question  about  that.  Only  a 
person  mentally  or  morally  unsound  would  have 
destroyed  the  telegram  addressed  to  Jessie.  And 
yet  Jessie  Sigmund  was  no  fool.  It  didn't  seem 
reasonable  that  Jessie  could  have  chummed  with 


228  PLUNDER 

a  girl  and  never  even  suspected  that  that  girl  was 
not  all  right  in  every  way.  Still,  the  two  hadn't 
been  so  intimate  in  the  past  few  months,  and  peo- 
ple change  in  a  mighty  short  time. 

Puzzling  thus  he  reached  the  office.  He  went 
at  once  to  the  morgue  and  looked  up  the  clippings 
about  Harry  Mack.  There  was  a  record  of 
Mack's  recent  arrival  in  this  country  and  his  de- 
parture therefrom.  Also  his  name  was  mentioned 
several  times  as  having  been  arrested — always 
abroad — charged  with  various  offenses  of  which 
later,  it  seemed,  he  had  been  proved  innocent. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  who,  if  any, 
were  his  pals  in  this  country.  The  reporter  de- 
cided to  make  a  round  of  the  up-town  hotels  in 
the  hope  of  locating  his  man  by  chance;  but  as 
he  started  to  leave  the  office  a  boy  brought  a  note 
to  him. 

"Mr.  Jackson  left  this  for  you.  Said  he'd  be 
back  at  midnight — gone  to  some  banquet,  I  think 
• — and  that  even  if  you  didn't  have  anything,  to 
wait  for  him." 

"Thanks,"  said  Hanrahan. 

He  opened  the  note.    It  read : 


PLUNDER  229 

"Dear  Tom :  Sent  Lovett  out  on  this  Master- 
man  matter.  He  reports  that  telephone  clerk  at 
M.'s  office  told  him  that  there  was  quite  a  to-do 
in  M.'s  office  yesterday  about  some  paper  that  had 
been  lost.  Later  a  woman  called  up  M.  Evident- 
ly a  stranger,  for  she  didn't  know  M.'s  private 
number  but  called  up  office.  When  told  M.  was 
busy,  as  is  always  done  when  calls  come  over 
listed  wires,  said  to  tell  M.  that  she  wished  to 
speak  about  a  paper  signed  by  M.  and  certain 
other  gentlemen.  That's  all  clerk  got.  None  of 
this  is  for  publication — yet!  I  must  observe  a 
confidence.  But  that  confidence  applies  merely 
to  publication,  I  take  -it.  Therefore,  get  busy. 
For  Lovett  also  learned  that  after  paper  was  lost 
Masterman  offered  ten  thousand  to  clerk  who 
would  recover  it.  It  had  blown  out  a  window. 
Also  the  Greenhams  are  busy  on  the  case,  as  you 
know.  I'm  certain  this  paper  has  something  to 
do  with  universal  transfers.  Take  my  word  for 
it,  but  not  to  be  used  in  your  story.  But  I'm  not 
divulging  any  confidence  in  what  I'm  writing,  be- 
cause what  Lovett  learned  was  caused  by  our  put- 
ting two  and  one  together  —  Masterman  and 
Greenham  and  Mack.  Get  hold  of  Mack  if  you 
haven't  done  so  already.  If  we  can  make  him 
talk  I  think  we've  got  the  biggest  story  of  the 
decade.  JACKSON." 

Hanrahan  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  thought 
over  the  situation.  A  woman  had  called  up  Mas- 
terman in  words  that  might  be  construed  to  hold 


230  PLUNDER 

a  threat.  Later  the  Greenhams  'tried  to  arrest  a 
woman,  but  she  was  rescued  by  Harry  Mack. 
Later  Greenham,  after  a  conference  with  Master- 
man,  went  to  police  headquarters  and  released 
Mack.  Mack  was  then  followed  until  he,  Han- 
rahan,  aided  him  to  elude  his  pursuers.  What 
was  the  answer  ? 

The  answer  was  this,  clear  as  day:  In  some 
scheme  that  affected  the  Masterman  interests, 
Kirby  Rowland  and  Harry  Mack  were  partners. 
Kirby  had  fled  to  Jessie's  for  refuge,  not  daring 
to  return  to  her  own  studio.  Then  Dixon  Grant 
had  located  her,  and  they  had  decided  to  seek 
some  safer  spot.  That  was  clear.  Suddenly 
Hanrahan  thought  of  the  burned  telegram  of 
whose  existence  Jessie  had  learned  only  by  acci- 
dent. Why  had  Kirby  done  this  ?  What  possible 
reason  could  she  have  for  withholding  from  Jessie 
the  information  contained  in  the  telegram  ?  And 
then,  lightning-like,  came  the  answer  to  that. 

Kirby  Rowland  was  not  withholding  informa- 
tion from  Jessie  nearly  so  much  as  she  was  with- 
holding it  from  Masterman!  Another  link;  an- 


PLUNDER  231 

other  evidence  that  Miss  Rowland  was  inimical 
to  the  financier.  But  what  petty  spirit  actuated 
her  enmity?  Why  hide  from  the  financier  infor- 
mation about  such  a  trifle?  But  was  it  a  trifle? 
Kirby  Rowland  was  an  artist.  It  seemed  certain 
that,  with  Harry  Mack,  she  was  scheming  some- 
thing inimical  to  the  Masterman  interests;  also 
that  the  Masterman  agents  knew  of  her  part  in  the 
plot  against  their  employer,  were  seeking  her,  and 
she  had  chosen  a  hiding-place  where  Masterman 
would  never  look  for  her — in  the  Masterman 
house  itself,  impersonating  Adele  Rohan! 

It  was  clever  reasoning  and  it  held  no  flaw! 
Straight  up  to  the  Masterman  mansion  he  would 

go,  ask  for  Miss  Adele  Rohan But  Jessie 

had  insisted  that  what  she  had  told  him  was  for 
his  ears»alone.  Without  her  first  aid  he  could  never 
have  deduced  what  he  had.  It  was  up  to  him  to 
see  Jessie  first,  explain  as  much  as  he  could — 
hang  confidences  anyway !  He  and  Jackson  were 
tied  up  with  them!  However,  he  could  explain 
to  Jessie  all  that  he  had  learned,  and  she  would, 
of  course,  tell  him  to  go  to  Kirby.  But  he  must 


232  PLUNDER 

see  her  first!  He  must  play  absolutely  fair  with 
the  girl  he  loved.  He  jammed  his  hat  on  his  head 
and  started  for  the  door. 

"Oh,  Tom!" 

It  was  Lyden,  the  city  editor,  calling. 

"In  an  awful  rush,  Boss!  Chief  has  me  work- 
ing on  a  special  assignment " 

"Well,  stick  around  a  second,"  grinned  Lyden. 
"The  business  office  thought  there  might  be  a 
story  in  this  'ad,'  and  they're  stalling  the  man 
down-stairs  until  I  get  a  slant  at  it  and  send  some 
one  down.  Read  it." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  snapped  Hanrahan.  He 
grabbed  the  "personal"  which  had  been  handed  in 
at  the  business  office,  and  which  that  department 
had  promptly  rushed  up-stairs  by  automatic  tube. 
This  was  the  advertisement: 

"K.  R.  and  D.  G.  If  don't  hear  from  you  bjt 
Thursday  at  six  p.  M.  will  tell  all  to  newspapers. 
Address  this  office.  H.  M." 

The  name  of  Kirby  Rowland  was  buzzing  in 
Hanrahan's  brain.  Almost  unconsciously  he  fitted 
it  to  the  first  initials.  Having  done  that  it  was 


PLUNDER  233 

obvious  that  he  should  fit  Dixon  Grant  and  Harry 
Mack  to  the  other  initials.  He  crumpled  the  paper 
in  his  fingers  and  ran  for  the  door. 

"I'll  tend  to  this,  Lyden,"  he  called  over  his 
shoulder,  and  the  city  editor,  amazed,  watched 
him  disappear  through  the  door,  and  heard  him 
wildly  ordering  the  elevator  boy  to  return  and 
get  him. 

Harry  Mack  was  in  the  business  office  down- 
stairs, wondering  why  newspapers  were  so  fussy 
about  accepting  advertisements,  when  Hanrahan 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  He  wheeled,  to 
meet  a  smile. 

"Nice  work  last  night,  Mack.  You  fooled  me 
to  the  queen's  taste.  However,  I  got  a  readable 
yarn,  even  if  it  wasn't  true.  But  now  I  want  a 
more  readable  yarn  that  is  true.  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  just  what  your  little  game  is;  what  you've 
been  trying  to  do  to  Masterman;  and  how  Miss 
Kirby  Rowland  figures  in  it  ?  Going  to  talk  ?" 

Over  the  face  of  Handsome  Harry  spread  a 
smile  of  admiration. 

"Hanrahan,  you  certainly  are  there !  How  on 
earth — sure,  I'll  talk.  I'm  always  willing  to  talk 


234  PLUNDER 

when  the  game  is  up.  I  know  when  I'm  licked. 
Will  your  paper  treat  me  right?" 

"Have  to  ask  the  boss  about  that,"  said  Hanra- 
han,  elated  at  his  easy  victory,  "but  he's  always 
mighty  generous  to  whoever  hands  the  paper  a 
tip.  Spill  it" 

"It's  a  long  story.  Let's  go  somewhere  and 
sit  down,"  suggested  Mack. 

"All  right,"  agreed  the  reporter.  "Right  across 
the  street  is  a  good  place." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  well-known  resort  of  the 
down-town  thirsty.  They  sat  down  in  a  booth  and 
ordered  highballs,  for  which  Mack  insisted  on 
paying. 

"Now,  then,"  said  the  international  crook,  "how 
much  do  you  know?  Ask  me  questions  if  you 
like;  that's  the  quickest  way." 

"How  much  do  I  know?"  echoed  Hanrahan. 
"Well,  I  know  that  you  and  Miss  Rowland  have 
some  club  you're  holding  over  Masterman's  head. 
I  know  that  you  rescued  her  from  the  Greenhams 
yesterday ;  I  know  that  she's  shaken  you,  she  and 
Dixon  Grant — am  I  right  ?  Yes — and  that  you're 
threatening  to  tell  all  unless  they  communicate 


PLUNDER  235 

with  you  at  this  office.  I  know — and  this  is  no 
breach  of  confidence,  Mack,  though  I  learned  it 
in  confidence,  for  you  know  it  yourself — that 
Masterman  lost  a  paper  which  you  evidently  have 
found.  Judging  by  your  'ad/  I  should  say  that 
Miss  Rowland  has  double-crossed  you  in  some 
way.  Now  then,  talk." 

"You  know  a  lot,"  commented  Mack  admiring- 
ly. "You're  certainly  one  clever  newspaperman! 
I  suppose  you  even  know  where  Miss  Rowland 
is  now?" 

Despite  himself  he  could  not  keep  his  eagerness 
out  of  his  tones ;  and  Hanrahan  felt  that  if  he  told 
Mack  where  he  believed  Kirby  Rowland  to  be  he 
would  get  no  information  from  the  crook.  He 
had  no  reason  for  thinking  this,  but  instinct  is 
sometimes  stronger  than  reason.  Somehow  he 
felt  certain  that  Mack's  complaisance  was  a  blind ; 
that  perhaps  the  international  crook  was  not 
quite  so  ready  to  tell  everything  as  he  appeared 
to  be. 

"Would  I  be  asking  you  questions  if  I  could 
locate  Miss  Rowland  and  ask  her?  She'd  be 
easier  than  you,  Mack." 


236  PLUNDER 

"Maybe,"  said  Mack  grimly.  "Then  that's  all 
you  know  ?" 

"All  I  intend  telling  you,"  smiled  Hanrahan. 

"Then  I  guess  I  haven't  any  conversation  to 
waste  on  you,"  said  Mack. 

He  pushed  back  his  chair  as  though  to  leave. 
Hanrahan  smiled.  A  mighty  good  poker  player 
was  Tom  Hanrahan,  as  his  fellows  on  the  Citizen 
would  vouch. 

"So?  Very  well,  then.  How's  it  going  to 
affect  your  game  when  I  publish  in  the  morning's 
Citizen  that  the  paper  lost  by  Masterman  is  a 
signed  agreement  between  Masterman  and  - 

It  was  a  most  artistic  pause ;  a  wonderful  bluff. 
It  worked.  The  face  of  Mack  went  dead  white. 
Then  he  forced  his  lips  to  curl  a  smile. 

"You  win,  I  guess.  If  I  tell  the  whole  story  I 
get  something,  eh?" 

"A  generous  something,"  promised  Hanrahan. 

"And  my  name  won't  come  out?  You  won't 
tell  a  soul  who  gave  it  to  you?  But  how  can  I 
be  sure?  Other  people  know  now  in  your  office, 
and  they  may  give  me  away." 


PLUNDER  237 

"Not  a  soul  knows  what  I  do  about  the  matter," 
said  Hanrahan  eagerly. 

A  faint  flicker  showed  in  Mack's  eyes.  He  was 
a  good  poker  player,  too. 

"That  right?  Well,  drink  up!  Here's  success 
to  me  in  my  line  and  to  you  in  your  line."  He 
held  out  his  glass  and  Hanrahan  permitted  his 
own  to  touch  it.  There  was  an  almost  invisible 
flick  of  Handsome  Harry's  little  finger. 

"How!"  said  the  international  crook. 

They  drank.  Hanrahan  turned  pale;  he  man- 
aged to  place  his  glass  back  on  the  table,  but  that 
was  all.  He  slid  from  his  chair  to  the  floor. 
Handsome  Harry  Mack  smiled. 

"There's  one  guy  that's  honest;  you  can  tell  it 
in  his  eyes.  He  said  no  one  knew  about  the  stuff 
he  mentioned  but  himself;  he  said  no  one  would 
learn  about  my  part  in  it.  Well,  I  guess  he  told 
the  truth  in  the  first  part  of  that;  I'm  dead  cer- 
tain about  the  last  part.  For  he  won't  talk  to 
any  one  for  a  while  yet." 

Quietly  he  left  the  booth.  No  one  noticed  that 
he  left  his  companion  lying  on  the  floor.  Hanra- 


238  PLUNDER 

ban  was  not  discovered  for  fifteen  minutes,  and 
by  that  time  Handsome  Harry  Mack  was  far  from 
Park  Row. 


XV 


MRS.  MASTERMAN  stood  timidly  on  the 
threshold.  Kirby  dug  at  her  eyes  with  her 
small  fists  and  yawned.  Then  she  sat  bolt  up- 
right in  bed  and  stared  at  the  unfamiliar  sur- 
roundings. She  swept  windows,  walls,  table  and 
bureau  with  an  uncomprehending  eye.  When  she 
saw  Mrs.  Masterman  she  remembered.  She 
smiled,  and  the  nervousness  and  timidity  of  the 
financier's  wife  melted  away  before  the  charm  of 
those  curved  lips  and  crinkled  eyes.  She  advanced 
boldly  into  the  room. 

"Well,  my  dear,  I  was  a  little  afraid.  I  thought 
you'd  be  angry  at  my  slipping  in  here ;  but  a  girl 
who  smiles  like  that  isn't  one  to  be  afraid  of,  is 
she?" 

Kirby's  smile  deepened. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  very  awesome,"  she  con- 
fessed. 

"You  didn't  look  it  as  you  lay  there  sleeping," 

239 


240  PLUNDER 

said  Mrs.  Masterman.  Her  eyes  clouded  with 
tears.  "You  looked  so  like  our  first  child,  the 
one  that  we  lost  when  she  was  sixteen,  that  — 
Did  you  rest  well?  Did  I  wake  you  up?  I  hope 
not  But  Laurel  is  wild  to  see  the  lady  who's  to 
paint  her,  and  I  was  as  quiet  as  possible 

"Waked  up  of  my  own  sweet  will,"  laughed 
Kirby.  "And  now  I'll  get  up." 

Mrs.  Masterman  backed  away. 

"Will  you  breakfast  here?  Or  would  you  care 
to  join  Laurel  in  the  breakfast  room?  She  isn't 
well,  and  she  doesn't  rise  so  early  as  my  husband 
or  myself.  It  would  give  you  a  chance  to  begin 
studying  her,  and " 

"I'd  be  delighted,"  said  Kirby.  "In  half  an 
hour." 

And  in  just  that  time,  radiant  from  her  toilet, 
Kirby  entered  the  breakfast  room,  where  the  ner- 
vous wife  of  the  master  of  transportation,  whose 
health  had  been  wrecked  by  giving  birth  to  a  child 
in  middle  life,  and  whose  child  was  as  delicate  as 
the  plant  for  which  she  was  named  was  not,  await- 
ed her.  The  introductions  were  speedily  accom- 
plished, and  Laurel  Masterman,  a  gentle  little  girl 


"I  thought  you'd  be  angry  at  my  slipping  in  here" 


PLUNDER  441 

of  an  exquisite  beauty  rendered  pathetic  by  its 
delicacy,  gave  her  heart  at  once  to  the  brown- 
haired  painter.  Indeed,  before  the  breakfast  was 
half  over  she  announced  that  she  loved  Miss 
Rohan,  and  that  the  artist  must  write  her  name  in 
the  little  girl's  birthday  book. 

Only  the  feeling  that  the  end  justified  the 
means,  and  that  the  work  in  which  she  was  en- 
gaged, to  which  she  had  dedicated  herself,  as  it 
were,  held  so  tremendous  a  good  as  to  condone  a 
little  bad,  forced  Kirby  to  inscribe  the  name  of 
Adele  Rohan  in  the  book.  And  as  she  did  so,  she 
prayed  fervently  that  the  Mastermans  did  not,  by 
any  mishap,  know  the  age  of  Adele  Rohan.  For 
Kirby  had  written  the  other  woman's  name  on  the 
page  given  over  to  March  sixteenth,  her  own 
birthday,  and  gave  the  date  of  her  own  birth. 

"And  it  isn't  just  for  show — I  won't  forget 
you,"  promised  Laurel. 

At  which  Kirby  tried  to  smile,  but  would  have 
found  it  easier  to  weep.  For,  cruel  though  Mas- 
terman  was,  his  wife  and  daughter  were  gentle. 
It  was  necessary  for  Kirby  to  conjure  up  an 
image  of  the  tough  little  messenger  boy  of  the 


242  PLUNDER 

previous  evening,  to  remember  the  conditions 
which  poverty  created,  and  which  bred  hundreds 
of  thousands,  boys  and  girls,  like  that  little  tough, 
to  corrupt  the  generations  unborn.  It  was  hard 
to  have  to  strike  at  Mrs.  Masterman,  gentle, 
thoughtful,  considerate;  it  was  hard  to  launch  a 
blow  that  would  in  any  way  at  all  injure  little 
Laurel.  Only  the  thought  of  what  she  believed 
to  be  the  greater  good,  in  whose  accomplishment 
the  innocent  must  suffer,  prevented  Kirby  from 
seeking  immediate  excuses  for  withdrawal  from 
her  great  plan. 

It  had  been  easy  to  picture  Masterman  as  a 
sort  of  human  devil  grinding  down  the  poor.  But 
the  way  in  which  his  little  girl  spoke  of  him,  lov- 
ingly, tenderly,  the  pride  and  affection  evidenced 
by  Mrs.  Masterman  every  time  she  mentioned  his 
name — these  created  another  Masterman,  a  hus- 
band and  father,  tender,  true  and  strong.  And 
if  an  hour  of  conversation  with  the  wife  and 
daughter  of  the  man  whom  she  sincerely  believed 
to  be  the  worst  enemy  to  enlightened  progress  in 
the  world  could  make  her  resolution  waver,  what 
would  two  weeks  do  ?  She  must  steel  her  heart ; 


PLUNDER  243 

she  must  nerve  herself  to  go  ahead  with  what  she 
had  planned. 

"And  though  ignorant  and  jealous  people  try 
to  decry  him,  he's  one  of  the  greatest  men  that 
ever  lived,"  Mrs.  Masterman  was  saying.  "Think 
what  he's  done  for  the  country;  how  he's  labored 
that  transportation  might  be  better,  that  business 
might  be  combined,  that  waste  might  be  avoided. 
And  how  generous !  Millions  he's  given  to  differ- 
ent charities  and  institutions  of  learning.  And 
to-day — why,  he's  caused  his  road  to  issue  uni- 
versal transfers!  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  city 
lines  all  over  the  country  were  forced  to  follow 
his  lead.  It's  a  great  thing.  The  papers — would 
you  like  to  see  what  they  say  about  him?" 

Kirby  would ;  and  a  servant  brought  sheaves  of 
the  morning  editions.  She  glanced  at  them  all, 
and  learned  enough  to  know  that  Martin  Master- 
man, by  many  editors  at  least,  was  considered  a 
great  public  benefactor.  The  public  would  prob- 
ably praise  Masterman.  She  hid  a  smile  as  she 
thought  of  how  unwelcome  all  this  praise  must  be 
to  Masterman ;  how  at  this  moment  his  detectives 
were  scouring  the  city  for  her,  who  had  forced 


*44  PLUNDER 

him  to  pose  as  a  public  benefactor.  She  read  the 
Citizen,  and  smiled  again  to  see  how  far  astray 
the  shrewd  reasoning  of  Jackson  was.  But  it 
gave  her  food  for  thought  She  must  be  careful 
not  to  give  Masterman  a  chance  further  to  enrich 
himself  by  short  selling.  He'd  not  had  opportu- 
nity to  do  it  this  time,  but  he  might  next.  And 
now  she  asked  herself  what  her  next  demand 
should  be.  Whatever  it  might  be,  it  must  be  made 
quickly.  She  had  eluded  the  financier's  detec- 
tives, but  Adele  Rohan  would  be  here  in  a  few 
weeks.  Before  that  time  she  must  have  com- 
pelled the  financier  to  do  many  things. 

A  servant  entered. 

"A  telephone  for  Miss  Rohan." 

She  followed  him  to  the  hall,  where,  in  a  little 
room  partitioned  off  for  privacy,  was  the  tele- 
phone. 

"Miss  Rohan?"     It  was  Grant's  voice. 

"Yes." 

She  could  almost  hear  him  sigh  with  relief. 

"All  right?" 

"All  right.    And  you?" 

"Same  here.    When  can  I  see  you?" 


PLUNDER  245 

She  thought  a  moment. 

"I'll  have  to  do  some  shopping.  The  art  de- 
partment of  Lacy's  in  an  hour.  And  be  careful," 
she  added  softly. 

"I  understand.    Good-by." 

He  rang  off.  Trembling  a  little,  Kirby  re- 
joined Mrs.  Masterman  and  Laurel  in  the  break- 
fast room. 

"Your  friends,  I  suppose,  will  make  so  many 
demands  upon  you,"  said  Mrs.  Masterman  with 
a  tinge  of  regret  in  her  voice,  "that  I  don't  sup- 
pose we'll  see  much  of  you  outside  of  business 
hours?" 

"And  I  want  Miss  Rohan  lots,"  announced 
Laurel.  "I  want  her  to  begin  painting  me  to- 
day." 

"Oh,  but  I  didn't  bring  anything  with  me," 
smiled  Kirby.  "I  have  to  shop  for  brushes,  pal- 
ettes, paints " 

"When  you  accepted  my  husband's  offer  he 
commissioned  an  art  dealer  to  turn  the  playroom 
into  a  studio,"  said  Mrs.  Masterman.  "There  is 
everything  there — everything  an  artist  could  pos- 
sibly need.  My  husband  said  so." 


246  PLUNDER 

"That  was  kind  of  him,"  said  Kirby.  "But 
still,  you  don't  understand  artists,  I'm  afraid,  Mrs. 
Masterman.  Not  my  kind  of  an  artist,  anyway. 
Before  I  paint  a  portrait  I  must  study  my  subject; 
it's  character,  not  mere  feature,  that  I  try  to  place 
on  the  canvas.  I  won't  start  painting  for  several 
days." 

"Oh,"  said  Laurel  disappointedly.  "But  you're 
going  to  study  me?  How  lovely!  And  I'll  be  my 
goodest  good  for  you.  Won't  you  come  now  and 
see  the  studio?" 

Kirby  naturally  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience 
to  see  Dick.  Finally  she  convinced  the  mother 
and  daughter,  against  their  reluctant  wills,  that 
she  was  not  only  in  lack  of  certain  things  which 
she  could  not  permit  their  courtesy  to  supply,  but 
was  also  a  bit  worn  out. 

"Of  course!  Three  days  on  a  train.  You 
simply  mustn't  work  for  several  days." 

She  ordered  a  car  for  the  girl,  and  shortly  be- 
fore the  time  agreed  upon,  Kirby  entered  the  art 
department  of  Lacy's.  She  had  refused  the  prof- 
fered services  of  Mrs.  Masterman's  maid,  and  so 
was  alone.  Dick  was  waiting  for  her.  Their 


PLUNDER  247 

hands  met,  and  they  sat  down  on  a  seat  near  the 
door. 

"Well,"  he  asked  excitedly,  "have  you  seen  the 
papers?" 

"I  have.    We've  won!" 

"The  first  battle.  And  you're  perfectly  safe, 
you  feel?" 

"So  safe  that  I'm  ashamed!  Dick,  it  doesn't 
seem  fair  or  right !  Mrs.  Masterman  and  her  dear 
little  girl — why  should  we  have  to  strike  the  in- 
nocent with  the  guilty?" 

He  smiled. 

"I  hardly  think  we'll  deprive  them  of  a  single 
automobile,  Kirby.  We  aren't  going  to  make 
Masterman  restore  his  fortune  to  the  people,  you 
know.  We're  simply  going  to  cinch  things  so  that 
other  fortunes  like  his  can't  spring  into  existence 
again.  What's  the  matter — weakening?" 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered ;  "but  I  hate  deceit. 
And  I'm  playing  a  deceitful  part,  that's  all. 
But  still — where  did  you  spend  the  night,  Dick?" 

"A  hotel  off  the  Square.  Easy  for  me,  hard 
for  you.  You're  certain  that  there's  no  suspicion? 
You  haven't  been  followed?" 


248  PLUNDER 

"That's  why  I  hate  it.  They  accept  me  so 
trustfully  for  what  I  profess  to  be." 

"Has  Masterman  seen  you?" 

"Not  yet;  but  he's  to  dine  at  home  to-night, 
and — but  I'm  not  afraid  of  him.  It's  the  deceiv- 
ing his  wife,  poor,  nervous  little  woman.  And 
his  daughter ;  I  almost  love  her  already,  Dick.  To 
think  that  she'll  learn  "  Her  mouth  hard- 
ened. "War  isn't  a  path  of  roses,  is  it?  But  we 
must  decide  what  to  do  next?  I  don't  know 
enough  about  conditions.  I  can  see  things  that 
are  wrong  and  should  be  righted,  but  I  want  to 
right  them  right!  Have  you  made  any  plans?" 

"You  haven't  commented  on  my  haggard  ap- 
pearance," he  said  aggrievedly. 

"You  are  tired,"  she  said  quickly.  "Poor 
Dick!"  She  squeezed  his  hand  surreptitiously, 
and  a  smile  chased  away  the  lines  of  weariness 
on  his  face. 

"Perfectly  well  now,"  he  said.  "Planned? 
Well,  rather!  I've  been  up  all  night  planning. 
I'm  more  eager  than  you  know,  I  fear,  Kirby. 
Do  you  realize,  girl  ?  Yesterday  we  were  excited. 
We  said  and  did  things  in  a  haphazard  fashion. 


PLUNDER  249 

But  now  I've  a  night  of  thought  behind  me,  a 
night  of  planning,  a  night  of  work!  Kirby,  we're 
going  to  make  Masterman,  Blaisdell,  Cardigan, 
and  those  allied  with  them,  restore  to  the  people 
that  which  they  have  taken.  We've  begun  a  little 
on  transportation ;  we'll  go  further.  And  we'll 
start  on  foodstuffs;  on  coal.  Listen!" 

He  drew  a  piece  of  foolscap  from  his  pocket. 

"Typewrote  it  in  a  hotel  before  you  were  up,'f 
he  said.  "Here  are  the  demands  we  make  of 
Masterman.  First,  a  flat  passenger  rate  of  one 
cent  a  mile  on  every  road  he  controls.  Of  course 
where  commutation  tickets  are  less  than  that,  the 
commutation  rate  to  stand.  A"  reduction  of  twen- 
ty-five per  cent,  on  every  freight  schedule.  An  in- 
crease of  wages  of  thirty  per  cent,  to  every  man 
employed  on  those  railroads.  That  will  do  for 
Masterman — for  the  present. 

"Cardigan !  Coal  to  be  reduced  to  four  dollars 
a  ton  to  the  householder — at  once!  Wages  in 
the  mines  to  be  increased  one  hundred  per  cent. — 
at  once! 

"Blaisdell !  The  price  of  all  meats  and  of  other 
foodstuffs  prepared  by  concerns  under  his  control 


250  PLUNDER 

to  be  reduced  one-half.  Wages  paid  by  him  to  be 
increased  forty  per  cent. — at  once!  There,  what 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

She  frowned. 

"Isn't  it  a  bit  too  radical,  Dick  ?  Won't  their 
businesses  fail?" 

"Exactly!  And  then  the  government  can  buy 
them  in.  The  government  isn't  going  to  have  its 
eyes  closed  while  these  things  are  happening.  The 
government  will  step  in  when  these  great  concerns 
show  signs  of  bankruptcy.  We'll  give  the  gov- 
ernment the  tip;  we'll — Kirby,  a  government  is 
as  successful  as  its  citizens,  and  no  more  so.  And 
a  government  can't  be  successful  when  its  citizens 
are  hungry,  illy  clothed,  badly  housed,  as  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  are  to-day  in  this  country. 
We're  going  to  make  anew  this  country.  We've 
started  already.  Early  this  morning  I  mailed  this 
list  of  first  things  to  Masterman ;  this  is  a  carbon 
I  have  here.  I  gave  him  forty-eight  hours  in 
which  to  put  these  plans  into  effect.  If  he 
doesn't " 

"Dick,  would  we  really,  do  you  think,  publish 
this  paper?" 


PLUNDER  251 

"I  haven't  thought  of  that  contingency,"  he 
said.  "The  rich  are  cowards ;  wealth  makes  them 
so.  Fear  of  what  we  can  do  will  drive  Master- 
man  and  his  gang.  Kirby,  we've  won!  For  as 
soon  as  these  things  go  into  effect,  the  war  is  over. 
Masterman  and  his  crowd  will  never  go  back  to 
the  old  order.  The  people  will  never  let  them." 

"But  you  gave  them  forty-eight  hours.  The 
Citizen  this  morning  claims  that  Masterman  has 
been  selling  short.  You  and  I  know  differently: 
but  can't  they  sell  short  now  and  reap  colossal 
profits?" 

"It's  too  big  a  thing,"  said  Dick.  "If  the  stock- 
holders of  all  -the  concerns  to  be  affected  by  our 
demands  learned  that  Masterman  and  his  asso- 
ciates had  been  selling  short,  they  would  think  the 
whole  change  a  mere  gambler's  trick  and  murder 
would  follow.  It  surely  would,  Kirby,  and  Mas- 
terman has  sense  enough  to  know  it.  He'll  take 
no  chances  of  that.  He  would  dare  trim  a  thou- 
sand people,  twenty  thousand,  but  not  half  a  mil- 
lion. He'll  reap  no  profit." 

She  rose. 

"You'll  call  me  up  on  the  telephone  each  day, 


252  PLUNDER 

Dick?  And  how  long  will  I  have  to  play  this 
hateful  part?" 

"A  couple  of  days,  that's  all.  It's  only  that 
you  may  be  safe.  For,  Kirby,  if  you  are  found 
and  your  safety  threatened,  I'd  give  up  the  whole 
business." 

"And  I,  too,"  she  confessed.  "It's  wrong  to 
place  one  above  the  many,  but  that's  love,  isn't  it, 
Dick?" 

"It  surely  is — with  me,  at  any  rate,"  he  told 
her.  "But  the  whole  thing  will  be  over  soon. 
Then  with  Masterman  involved  so  that  he  can  not 
retreat,  we  won't  care  if  he  knows  our  identity." 

"I  will,"  said  Kirby.  "His  wife  and  child- 
oh,  well,  good-by,  Dick.  And  phone  me." 

There  was  not  even  opportunity  for  a  stolen 
kiss.  They  dared  not  be  seen  on  the  street  to- 
gether. They  were  not  really  safe  even  here. 
Some  one  might  see  them.  Some  Greenham  op- 
erative might  be  buying  a  present  for  his  wife. 
They  separated  and  went  in  opposite  directions. 

Down-town  Martin  Masterman,  Cardigan  and 
Blaisdell  looked  into  the  grinning  face  of  ruin. 


XVI 

MARTIN  MASTERMAN  had  but  one  pas- 
sion —  that  was  his  invalid  daughter. 
Power,  place  and  fortune,  these  were  not  passions 
— they  were  a  disease  with  him.  For  Laurel  he 
would  have  faced  poverty  cheerfully.  No  man 
is  wholly  bad,  and  Masterman,  unmoral  rather 
than  immoral,  hard,  cruel,  grasping,  had  his  soft 
spot.  If  any  doctor  could  have  convinced  him 
that  it  lay  in  his  power  to  heal  the  little  girl,  and 
had  demanded  therefor  all  of  Masterman's  for- 
tune, Masterman  would  have  given  it. 

Laurel  dined  seldom  with  her  parents — once  or 
twice  a  week  at  the  outside.  When  she  did  it  was 
an  event,  planned  a  couple  of  days  in  advance, 
and  Masterman  allowed  nothing  to  prevent  his 
attending  the  function.  The  day  following  the 
loss  of  the  fateful  paper  he  left  Cardigan  and 
Blaisdell  at  five  o'clock  to  keep  his  engagement 
to  dine  at  home.  What  good  did  it  do  them  to 

253 


254  PLUNDER 

sit  and  brood?  The  Greenhams  were  doing  the 
best  they  could  and  the  Greenhams  were  the  best 
detectives  in  the  business.  If  the  Greenhams 
couldn't  find  the  girl  and  young  man  who  had 
procured  the  paper  from  Harry  Mack — well,  no 
one  could  find  them. 

"And  if  they  don't,"  Blaisdell  had  piped,  in 
reply  to  this  summing  up  of  the  situation  by  Mas- 
terman,  "what  then?" 

"Then,"  said  Masterman  heavily,  "we  confess 
defeat  and  do  as  this  pair  of  precious  maniacs  de- 
mand." 

"That  means  ruin !"  cried  Blaisdell. 

"And  our  refusal  means  the  same  thing,  doesn't 
it?" 

There  the  argument  had  ended,  to  be  succeeded 
by  futile  worryings.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done,  except  hope  that  the  Greenhams  would  suc- 
ceed in  finding  the  possessors  of  the  paper  and 
wresting  it  from  them.  And  the  Greenhams  were 
working  as  they  had  never  worked  before,  for 
Martin  Masterman  had  held  before  the  two 
brothers  the  promise  of  a  reward  which  would 
lift  them  at  once  into  the  wealthy  class.  They 


PLUNDER  255 

were  combing  the  city.  The  three  millionaires 
could  do  nothing  save  irritate  one  another.  So 
Masterman  went  home. 

Kirby  dreaded  the  meeting  with  Masterman. 
She  had  pictured  him  as  some  all-devouring  ogre 
whose  baleful  glance  alone  was  enough  to  wither 
and  shrivel  ordinary  humans.  Instead,  she  met 
a  grim-faced  old  man,  deeper-lined  of  face,  and 
more  burning  of  eye  than  any  one  she  had  ever 
met.  The  events  of  the  day,  Kirby  could  see, 
were  telling  on  him,  but  she  noted  the  effect  mere- 
ly because  she  knew  the  cause.  To  his  wife  and 
to  his  daughter  he  seemed  the  same  gentle  hus- 
band and  father  he  had  always  been,  for  they 
knew  only  his  soft  side.  Mrs.  Masterman  was  ab- 
solutely convinced  that  her  husband  had  never 
done  a  wrong  thing  in  his  life,  but  that  he  was 
the  victim  of  jealousy.  She  believed  none  of  the 
attacks  made  against  him.  Her  faith  was  su- 
preme. 

The  dinner  passed  pleasantly.  Masterman, 
on  being  introduced  to  "Miss  Rohan,"  had  given 
her  one  moment  of  fright.  On  hearing  her  voice 
he  had  raised  his  eyebrows  faintly. 


256  PLUNDER 

"Your  voice  is  vaguely  familiar,  Miss  Rohan. 
Have  I  ever  heard  it  before?" 

"Possibly,"  said  Kirby,  with  a  flash  of  her 
teeth,  "but  I  do  not  know  where." 

"My  imagination  probably,"  said  Masterman. 
Then  he  spoke  to  her  of  Paris,  of  Colorado,  com- 
plimented her  on  her  work,  asked  what  sort  of 
portrait  she  planned  to  paint  of  Laurel,  and  other 
conventional  questions.  But  mostly  he  devoted 
himself  to  his  little  daughter,  causing  Kirby  to 
wonder  at  the  many-sidedness  of  human  nature. 
Here  was  a  man  whose  every  business  action 
tended  to  reduce  the  opportunities  in  life  of  mil- 
lions of  children.  Yet  he  loved  his  own  daugh- 
ter above  everything  else.  Though  in  his  busi- 
ness life  he  was  relentless  in  pursuit  of  power 
to  the  exclusion  of  aught  else,  yet  at  home  his 
every  smile,  his  every  look,  his  every  caress 
showed  that  he  was  as  human  as  other  fathers. 
Why,  then,  this  cruelty  toward  the  world? 

She  began  to  understand:  Masterman  recog- 
nized nothing  save  family.  Community,  nation, 
world,  these  were  less  than  nothing  to  him !  Only 
his  family  counted  where  tenderness  and  gener- 


PLUNDER  257 

osity  were  concerned.  Like  the  caveman,  he 
protected  his  own,  cherished  them,  but  with  all 
others  he  was  at  war.  The  family  was  his  unit 
and  his  whole!  This  was  the  explanation.  He 
had  the  caveman's  attitude  toward  the  world,  and 
like  the  caveman  had  been  outgrown  by  the  rest 
of  the  world,  passed  in  the  race  of  civilization. 
Kirby  told  herself  that  though  the  innocent  suf- 
fer with  the  guilty,  it  is  the  greater  good  that 
counts.  So  she  steeled  her  heart  once  more. 

The  meal  passed.  Laurel,  clinging  to  her  fa- 
ther's hand,  insisted  that  he  see  her  birthday 
book. 

"I've  four  more  names  in  it  since  you  saw  it 
last,  daddy,"  she  said.  "You  must  seem  them." 

He  assented,  and  she  sped  away  to  her  own 
room  to  fetch  the  volume. 

"You  are  going  to  give  me  your  best  efforts?" 
queried  Masterman,  while  his  daughter  was 
away.  "Miss  Rohan,  no  one,  not  even  her 
mother,  understands  my  little  girl  as  I  do.  She 
has  the  soul  of  Joan  of  Arc!  You  have  seen 
her;  you  know  she  is  lovely;  there  is  no  doubt  of 
your  technical  skill;  you  can  reproduce  her  fea- 


258  PLUNDER 

tures.  But  so  can  a  thousand  other  artists.  I 
obtained  your  services  for  two  reasons:  One  is 
because  you  are  a  fair  and  just  woman.  How 
do  I  know?  I  am  somewhat  of  a  connoisseur, 
Miss  Rohan,  despite  that  lying  tale  about  my  Bot- 
ticelli in  this  morning's  Citizen.  I  can  read  be- 
tween the  strokes  of  the  brush  even  as  one  may 
sometimes  read  between  the  lines  of  a  story  or 
letter.  I  saw  your  portrait  of  Senora  Davost, 
the  Spanish  dancer.  That  woman  is  a  bad  wom- 
an, and  a  woman  like  you,"  and  he  bowed, 
"would  recognize  and  despise  her  in  spite  of  her 
charm  and  good  looks.  And  yet,  in  your  por- 
trait, while  you  do  not  hide  the  evil  that  is  in 
her,  while  you  bring  it  out  upon  the  canvas  with 
a  soul  analysis  that  is  almost  uncanny,  you  do 
not  stop  there.  You  also  bring  out  the  traits  of 
generosity,  of  impulsive  nobility  that  are  in  her 
soul.  I  read  them  in  your  painting,  and  I  ad- 
mired you.  For  it  is  not  every  woman,  nor  yet 
every  man,  that  can  be  absolutely  fair.  And  you 
were,  when  it  was  not  necessary,  for  all  the 
senora  wanted  was  a  portrait  of  herself,  showing 
her  hair,  complexion  and  figure,  eyes  and  teeth. 


PLUNDER  259 

But  you  painted  her  as  the  Book  of  Judgment 
must  have  her  recorded. 

"That  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  want  you  to 
paint  my  daughter — because  you  will  accord  her 
her  spiritual  due.  The  other  reason  is  really 
part  of  the  first — because  you  have  genius.  So 
then,  Miss  Rohan,  you  will  paint,  not  the  daugh- 
ter of  Martin  Masterman,  but  a  little  girl  named 
Laurel.  For  genius  and  a  sense  of  fairness 
mean  no  compromise  with  yourself.  Other  art- 
ists have  painted  Laurel — they  have  made  a  doll 
of  her,  because  they  thought  to  flatter  my  pride 
in  her.  But  you  will  give  me  her  soul  on  canvas, 
and  when  she  is  gone — for  she  is  not  here  for 
long,  Miss  Rohan — I  shall  have  my  child,  not  a 
painted  image  of  her,  to  look  upon." 

Kirby,  swept  away  by  the  man's  emotion, 
touched  him  on  the  arm: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Masterman,  if  you  feel  that  way 
about  her,  I  think " 

But  a  smile,  not  directed  at  her,  cut  short  the 
words  that  would  have  inevitably  caused  suspic- 
ion. Masterman  had  caught  sight  of  Laurel  re- 
turning. 


260  PLUNDER 

"Here  it  is,  daddy.    Here's  the  book." 

They  were  in  Masterman's  library  now.  Mas- 
terman  was  seated  in  a  heavy  armchair.  Oppo- 
site him  sat  his  sad-eyed,  nervous  wife.  Laurel 
drew  the  book  away  as  her  father  reached  for  it. 

"Get  out  your  pen  first,  daddy,"  she  com- 
manded. She  looked  at  Kirby.  "I  give  my 
presents  to  those  whose  names  are  written  here," 
she  announced  proudly.  "But  little  girls  don't 
always  know  what  grown-ups  want,  so  daddy 
gets  something  else  for  them — always.  He 
never  forgets!" 

"You  see,  Miss  Rohan" — the  financier's  smile 
left  his  daughter  to  rest  on  Kirby  a  moment — 
"those  whom  my  daughter  loves  must  pay  the 
price.  They  must  accept  the  regard  of  Laurel's 
father,  unwelcome  though  it  may  be." 

"As  if  any  one  isn't  proud  to  have  you  love 
them,  daddy,"  exclaimed  Laurel  indignantly. 

There  was  incredulity  in  the  whimsical  smile 
which  the  financier  turned  on  Kirby. 

"When  the  important  person  feels  this  way 
I  don't  suppose  it  should  matter  about  the  rest 
of  the  world,"  he  said. 


PLUNDER  261 

Then  he  opened  the  book.  Laurel's  hand 
guided  his.  They  found  the  first  of  the  names, 
the  second,  the  third  and  the  fourth — Adele 
Rohan's.  Carefully  Masterman  had  written 
down  the  names  of  the  three.  At  the  name 
which  Kirby  had  written  he  found  difficulty  with 
his  fountain  pen. 

"All  out  of  ink,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "I'll 
have  to  get  another." 

He  rose  and  walked  into  the  little  workroom 
which  adjoined  his  library.  Kirby  stared  after 
him,  wide-eyed  with  apprehension.  "Conscience 
doth  make  cowards  of  us  all!" 

Not  by  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash  had  Master- 
man shown  any  emotion  on  seeing  the  signature 
of  Adele  Rohan.  It  was  merely  a  coincidence 
that  his  pen  should  have  run  dry  at  the  very 
moment  it  devolved  upon  it  to  transcribe  the  name 
of  the  Western-Parisian  artist.  It  did  not  mean 
that  Masterman  knew  the  chirography  of  Miss 
Rohan,  and,  therefore,  realized  that  an  impostor 
was  sitting  in  his  library.  Yet,  though  it  was 
the  merest  coincidence,  Kirby's  muscles  grew 
tense,  and  her  brain  was  suddenly  as  alert  as 


262  PLUNDER 

though  pricked  with  needles.  But  she  relaxed  at 
Masterman's  speedy  return.  He  had  another 
pen  in  his  hand  and  his  countenance  was  alight 
with  that  tenderness  which  she  knew  he  reserved 
for  his  daughter. 

"Now  for  Miss  Rohan's  name  and  birthday," 
he  laughed. 

He  worked  sidewise  into  the  chair  on  whose 
arm  Laurel  was  still  perched.  With  her  arm 
about  his  neck,  and  her  cheek  close  to  his,  while 
she  watched  the  operation,  he  wrote  the  name  of 
Adele  Rohan  in  the  little  note-book  which  seemed 
wholly  devoted  to  the  uses  to  which  it  was  being 
put  to-night.  He  closed  the  little  book,  placed  it 
in  an  inside  pocket,  swung  Laurel  into  the  air 
and  set  her  gently  on  the  ground. 

"And  now  to  work,"  he  said.  "Daddy  has  a 
hundred  and  one  things  to  do,  so  shoo-ooh !" 

He  waved  her  from  the  room  laughingly,  and 
she  responded  to  his  mirth. 

"But  Miss  Rohan  must  stay  with  me  till  bed- 
time," she  said,  grasping  Kirby  by  the  hand. 

"Miss  Rohan  may  want  to  read  or  write  let- 
ters," suggested  Mrs.  Masterman,  "or  perhaps 


PLUNDER  263 

she  would  like  to  call  upon  some  of  her  friends  in 
the  city." 

That  a  young  lady,  unattended,  should  go  out 
at  night  to  pay  calls  was  contrary  to  Mrs.  Master- 
man's  idea  of  the  conventions;  but  artists,  espe- 
cially women  artists,  even  when  as  charming  and 
well-mannered  as  Miss  Rohan,  were  apt  to  be  un- 
conventional. 

But  Kirby  shook  her  head. 

"I'd  rather  play  with  a  certain  dear  little  girl  I 
know  than  do  anything  else,"  she  said. 

"Then  by  all  means  do  what  you'd  rather  do," 
said  Masterman,  wkh  a  genial  smile. 

But  the  benignity  left  his  eye  the  moment  that 
Kirby,  hand  in  hand  with  Laurel  and  followed  by 
Mrs.  Masterman,  left  the  room.  He  strode  to 
the  table,  picked  up  the  birthday  book  which 
Laurel,  with  the  inconsequence  of  childhood,  had 
left  behind  her,  and  carried  it  into  his  workroom. 
He  placed  the  book  upon  a  small  table  upon  which 
was  already  an  unfolded  letter.  The  letter  was 
dated  Denver  and  was  signed  by  Adele  Rohan. 
Kirby's  belief  that  Masterman  and  the  girl  she 
was  impersonating  had  never  met  had  been  cor- 


264  PLUNDER 

rect,  but  she  had  not  thought  upon  the  fact  that 
they  must  have  corresponded. 

Swiftly  Masterman  compared  the  two  signa- 
tures. He  did  so  carefully,  although  any  one 
would  have  been  certain  at  a  glance  that  two  dif- 
ferent hands  had  penned  them.  He  wanted  to 
be  quite  sure!  There  was,  of  course,  the  possi- 
bility that  Miss  Rohan  had  dictated  this  letter, 
and  that  some  one  had  not  only  written  it,  but 
signed  it.  But  there  was  nothing  in  this  note, 
which  was  an  acceptance  of  his  offer  of  ten  thou- 
sand for  a  portrait  of  Laurel,  and  which  stated 
that  the  artist  would  arrive  at  about  this  very 
time,  to  indicate  that  it  was  other  than  Miss 
Rohan's  own  handwriting. 

"Certainly,"  said  Masterman  to  himself,  "she 
would  not  commission  any  one  with  so  vile  a 
handwriting  to  write  her  letters  for  her,  eccentric 
though  she  may  be.  It's  her  own  handwriting!" 

Then  who  was  the  impostor?  Masterman 
answered  that  question  without  hesitation.  It 
was  Kirby  Rowland,  the  young  woman  who  had 
over  the  telephone  given  him  the  command  about 
universal  transfers. 


PLUNDER.  265 

Masterman  might  have  conversed  with  Kirby 
a  year  without  definitely  recognizing  that  voice 
which  sounded  so  vaguely  familiar — that  is,  with- 
out extraneous  suggestion.  But  that  extraneous 
suggestion  had  come  with  suspicion.  It  is  often 
so.  We  meet  a  person  who  looks  familiar,  but 
we  can  not  name  him.  Then  he  mentions  cas- 
ually that  he  hasn't  been  in  Philadelphia  for  seven 
years.  We  know  him!  The  train  of  thought 
leading  to  recognition  has  been  started. 

So  it  was  with  Masterman.  When  he  discov- 
ered, to  his  own  satisfaction  at  any  rate,  that  the 
guest  in  his  household  was  not  Adele  Rohan,  but 
was  an  impostor,  he  remembered  at  once  the  only 
place  where  he  had  ever  heard  her  voice  before — 
over  the  telephone  the  previous  day.  At  first  his 
rage  was  almost  ungovernable.  Not  quite  cer- 
tain, or  rather  not  willing  to  admit  his  certainty, 
until  the  two  signatures  were  laid  side  by  side, 
he  had  exhibited  that  wonderful  self-control  that 
had  done  so  much  toward  placing  him  where  he 
was. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  send  a  servant  for 
Kirby  and  force  the  truth  from  her;  but  he  dis- 


266  PLUNDER 

missed  that  idea  at  once.  There  was  a  bare  pos- 
sibility that  the  guest  in  his  house  was  not  an  im- 
postor. Masterman  never  acted  on  impulse  when 
great  issues  were  at  stake ;  he  never  acted  on  mere 
knowledge;  he  acted  on  evidence!  And  he 
wanted  all  the  evidence  obtainable.  Quite  calmly 
he  sat  down  before  his  private  telephone  and  had 
himself  connected  with  the  superintendent  of  the 
telegraph  company,  which  Masterman  practically 
owned. 

"I  want  you,"  he  said,  "to  find  out  for  me  at 
once  if  a  Miss  Adele  Rohan,  an  artist,  has  left 
Denver,  and  if  so,  find  out  her  destination."  He 
gave  the  address  which  was  on  Miss  Rohan's  let- 
ter. "I  want  an  answer  within  one  hour." 

"You'll  have  it,  Mr.  Masterman,"  said  the  su- 
perintendent obsequiously,  and  Masterman  hung 
up.  But  he  joggled  the  receiver  again  almost 
immediately.  This  time  he  connected  with  Ter- 
ence Greenham,  and  demanded  his  immediate 
presence.  After  that  he  called  up  Cardigan  and 
Blaisdell,  and  those  harassed  gentlemen  promised 
to  be  with  him  as  soon  as  swift  automobiles  could 
convey  them  from  their  homes,  where  they  had 


PLUNDER  267 

been  pacing  their  respective  libraries,  torn  by  a 
hundred  fears. 

Blaisdell  and  Greenham  arrived  almost  togeth- 
er, Cardigan  a  few  moments  later.  A  servant, 
used  to  surreptitious  visitors,  smuggled  the  three 
men  into  the  Masterman  library  without  any  one 
else  suspecting  their  presence.  Masterman  re- 
fused to  talk  until  all  three  men  were  present. 
Then  tersely  he  told  them  of  his  suspicions. 

"But  why  wait  for  the  Denver  message?"  de- 
manded Greenham.  "I've  seen  her;  I'll  know 
her!  Send  for  her,  and " 

"But  wouldn't  it  be  a  good  idea  to  find  out  if 
she  really  is  Miss  Rohan?  It  may  not  be  Kirby 
Rowland  masquerading  as  Adele  Rohan,  it  may 
have  been  Adele  Rohan  masquerading  as  Kirby 
Rowland.  She  isn't  alone  in  this,  you  know, 
Greenham.  If  by  any  chance  she  really  is  the 
Rohan  woman,  it  will  be  the  Rohan  acquaintance 
among  whom  we  must  search  for  this  Dixon 
Grant.  That  will  help,  won't  it?  Of  course  if 
she  is  really  Kirby  Rowland,  you'll  have  to  stick 
to  her  acquaintance  in  hope  of  locating  Grant. 
This  woman,  whatever  her  real  name  is — and 


268  PLUNDER 

we'll  know  that  in  a  little  while — isn't  alone.  Re- 
member that !  We've  got  her ;  before  taking  her 
let's  find  out  what  we  can.  Smoke." 

In  full  control  of  himself  he  smoked  in  silence, 
while  Blaisdell  and  Cardigan  walked  the  floor, 
and  Terence  Greenham  tried  to  compute  how 
much  Masterman  would  lop  off  his  promised  re- 
ward if  Masterman  had  really  succeeded  where 
the  detective  had  failed.  Then  the  phone  tinkled. 
Masterman  listened  a  moment,  then  spoke : 

"I  want  you,  Keeler,  to  send  at  once  to  this 
house  a  message  for  Miss  Adele  Rohan.  It  must 
bear  the  Denver  date  line  of  a  couple  of  hours 
ago.  Have  it  brief.  Something  like  this :  'Come 
at  once.'  Sign  it  'Elise,'  or  any  other  name  that 
suits  your  fancy.  Understand?  At  once!" 

He  turned  to  his  companions. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  Keeler  has  received  word 
from  Denver  that  Miss  Adele  Rohan  left  that 
'city,  bound  for  New  York,  this  afternoon !  There 
is  no  possibility  of  mistake.  Miss  Rohan  is  well 
known  in  Denver,  and  the  Denver  office  of  the 
telegraph  company  even  sent  on  the  number  of 
her  drawing-room.  I  knew  it  before,  but  I  am 


PLUNDER  269 

certain  now — the  young  woman  at  present  play- 
ing in  the  nursery  with  my  daughter  is  not  Miss 
Rohan,  she  is  the  woman  who  possesses  the  paper 
we  lost  yesterday." 

"Then  bring  her  in  here,"  roared  Cardigan, 
"and  we'll  make  her  give  it  up!" 

Masterman  shook  his  head. 

"I've  had  the  pleasure  of  conversing  with  the 
young  lady,  Cardigan.  The  girl  who's  had  the 
nerve  to  come  up  to  my  house  when  she  knew 
that  I'd  give  a  fortune  to  get  hold  of  her  is  not 
the  kind  to  surrender  in  a  moment.  Besides, 
Laurel  has  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  and  no  force  is 
to  be  used  on  her." 

Cardigan,  fists  doubled,  glared  at  him. 

"Then  what  do  we  do?  Beg  her  to  hand  it 
back?  Why  are  we  here?" 

"No,"  said  Masterman  coldly,  "we  don't  beg 
her.  Nor  do  we  use  force.  We  use  restraint. 
You  spoke  of  incarcerating  Mack  in  your  Long 
Island  place.  What's  the  matter  with' taking  this 
young  woman  down  there?" 

"I  suppose  she'll  come  gladly,"  sneered  Cardi- 
gan. 


270  PLUNDER 

"There  are  measures,  my  dear  Cardigan,  that 
are  effective  without  being  brutal.  It  is  one  of 
those  we  shall  use."  He  unlocked  a  desk  and 
from  a  drawer  drew  a  little  medicine  case.  From 
this  he  took  a  small  bottle  and  a  roll  of  gauze. 

"I  think  chloroform  will  do  the  work,  eh?" 
He  looked  at  Greenham,  and  the  detective  took 
bottle  and  gauze  from  the  financier's  hands. 

"I  can  use  it,"  said  Greenham.    "Send  for  her." 

Masterman  hesitated  a  moment. 

"We'll  give  her  a  chance  first.  I'll  try  to  reason 
with  her.  If  I  can't — this  library  is  sound-proof; 
we'll  go  ahead  with  the  chloroform.  Then,  Car- 
digan, you  can  carry  her  out  the  side  entrance; 
I'll  have  a  servant  tell  your  chauffeur  to  move 
down  there.  And  then — take  her  to  Bellmere. 
When  she  wakes  up  in  the  morning,  and  finds 
that  she's  locked  in  a  room — who's  down  at  Bell- 
mere  now?" 

"Only  a  caretaker,"  answered  Cardigan.  "And 
he'll  keep  his  mouth  shut — he  and  his  wife." 

"Good,"  said  Masterman.  "Well,  then,  when 
the  young  lady  learns  'that  she's  to  remain  in  Bell- 
mere  until  she  surrenders  that  paper — after  I've 


PLUNDER  371 

had  a  little  talk  with  her  convincing  her  that 
she'll  stay  there  until  she  dies  of  old  age  if  she 
doesn't  surrender  it — I  think  we'll  have  no  diffi- 
culty with  her." 

Blaisdell  put  his  finger  on  the  weak  spot  in 
Masterman's  logic. 

"But  the  men  with  her — Grant  and  Mack? 
Perhaps  they  have  the  paper?  What  good'll  it 
do " 

"Despite  all  that's  happened — Mack's  rescue 
of  her  and  all  that — I  still  do  not  believe  that 
Mack  and  the  girl  are  in  league  together.  In  the 
first  place,  their  demands  are  so  utterly  opposed; 
in  the  second,  I  can  not  conceive  of  this  young 
woman  having  anything  at  all  to  do  with  Mack. 
He  is  a  blackmailing  scoundrel;  she,  though  act- 
ing insanely,  is  a  lady  who  would  not  stoop  to 
use  the  paper  for  personal  profit.  Why  Mack 
rescued  her  I  don't  profess  to  understand,  but  that 
it  means  he  has  any  understanding  with  her  I 
refuse  to  believe.  And  I'm  sure  that  Mack  hasn't 
got  the  paper.  She  has  it.  Why,  that's  it!"  he 
exclaimed.  "She  has  it,  was  on  the  verge  of  cap- 
ture— was  captured —  and  Mack  rescued  her.  He 


272  PLUNDER 

rescued  her  thinking  that  he  could  later  obtain  it 
from  her.  But  he  was  immediately  locked  up, 
and  since  his  release  she's  been  in  this  house. 
Though  she  was  out  to-day — shopping,  she  told 
my  wife — I  do  not  believe  she  saw  Mack.  He 
is  out  of  the  game — for  the  present,  at  any  rate. 

"And  the  other  man — Grant.  From  what  you 
have  told  us,  Greenham,  it  seems  certain  that  he 
is  no  friend  of  Mack's,  although  the  latter  gave 
him  the  paper.  But  he  is  a  friend  of  Miss  Row- 
land. More — he  must  be  her  lover.  To  no  one 
else  would  he  have  confided  the  nature  of  that 
document.  To  no  one  else  would  he  have  appor- 
tioned a  part  in  this  little  play. 

"If  this  man  Grant  communicates  with  me  I 
shall  tell  him  that  unless  he  surrenders  the  paper 
— provided  that  she  hasn't  it — he  will  never  see 
her  again.  Further,  if  he  threatens  publication  I 
will  inform  him  that  when  it  comes  Martin  Mas- 
terman's  time  to  be  destroyed  by  his  enemies,  he 
will  take  whatever  of  those  enemies  he  can  along 
with  him.  I  will  tell  him  that  publication  means 
death  to  me ;  it  will  also  mean  death  to  Miss  Row- 
land. Any  more  objections?" 


PLUNDER  273 

The  others  were  silent.  Masterman  spoke 
again. 

"We'll  give  her  a  chance.  If  she  is  stubborn 
Cardigan  will  take  her  to  Bellmere.  You,  Green- 
ham,  will  at  once  order  a  woman  operative,  im- 
personating Miss  Rowland,  to  take  the  night 
train  to  Chicago.  Then  let  her  disappear  for 
a  while.  This  is  merely  in  case  Grant  should  try 
to  trace  the  young  woman.  He  might  hire  some 
private  detective  agency  to  locate  her.  They 
would  learn  that  the  supposed  'Miss  Rohan'  had 
received  a  telegram  and  left  at  once  for  Denver. 
It  merely  covers  her  trail.  For  I  shall  see  that 
my  servants  know  of  the  telegram  which  Keeler 
will  send  here,  and  of  Miss  Rohan's  sudden  de- 
parture. Then,  if  Grant  loves  the  girl,  and  he 
must,  he  will  know  that  it  is  useless  to  attempt 
tracing  her,  and  if  he  has  the  paper  in  his  posses- 
sion he  will  surrender." 

"You  count  a  lot  on  the  effect  of  love,  don't 
you?"  sneered  Cardigan. 

"The  force  that  has  made  history  is  hardly 
to  be  scoffed  at,"  was  Mastennan's  reply.  Then 
he  gave  his  last  instructions : 


274  PLUNDER 

"Greenham,  you  keep  after  this  Grant — and 
Mack,  too,  though  I  can  not  see  where  he  figures. 
Cardigan,  you  stay  with  this  girl  at  Bellmere; 
but" — and  he  spoke  with  sudden  vehemence — 
"if  you  harm  her  you'll  settle  with  me.  You, 
Blaisdell,  go  home  and  try  to  stop  whimpering. 
Ready?" 

He  pressed  a  bell,  a  servant  came,  and  imme- 
diately left  to  inform  Miss  Rohan  that  Mr.  Mas- 
terman  would  like  to  see  her  in  his  library.  Little 
Laurel  had  just  been  put  to  bed  and  Kirby  was 
on  the  verge  of  retiring  to  her  own  room.  Mrs. 
Masterman  and  Kirby,  in  fact,  were  just  parting 
in  the  hall  outside  Laurel's  bedroom  when  the 
servant  gave  Kirby  the  message. 

"If  Mr.  Masterman  gets  talking  art  he  doesn't 
know  when  to  stop.  I  think  I'll  say  good  night 
now,"  smiled  Mrs.  Masterman.  Impulsively  she 
kissed  Kirby,  and  with  a  heavy  heart — why  is  it 
that  a  spy,  doing  a  gallant  service,  despises  him- 
self?— Kirby  went  to  the  library. 

Once  across  the  threshold,  seeing  that  Master- 
man was  not  alone,  recognizing  the  faces  of 
Blaisdell  and  Cardigan  from  their  newspaper  pic- 


PLUNDER  275 

tures,  she  would  have  turned  and  fled  the  room; 
but  Greenham  was  too  quick.  He  closed  the  door 
and  locked  it;  and  Kirby  recognized  him.  She 
knew  the  purpose  of  the  meeting.  But  the  color 
came  back  to  her  cheeks  as  quickly  as  it  fled.  Her 
lips  curled  in  a  smile;  her  eyes  sparkled  with 
that  light  that  illumines  the  eyes  of  the  born 
fighter  going  joyously  into  battle.  She  had  had 
tremors  before;  she  had  been  frightened  before; 
but  this  had  been  as  the  nervousness  of  the  sol- 
dier on  the  eve  of  battle.  Battle  itself  she  did 
not  dread.  Moreover,  she  had  taken  a  quick 
liking,  that  was  really  warm  affection,  for  Laurel 
Masterman.  It  irked  Kirby  to  be  masquerading 
in  the  home  of  Laurel.  She  was  glad  the  issue 
was  joined.  She  waited  for  Masterman  to  speak. 

"Miss  Rowland,"  he  said  heavily,  "you  are  in 
my  house  on  false  pretenses.  You  can  go  to 
jail  for  that." 

"I  dare  you  to  send  me  there,  Mr.  Masterman," 
she  smiled. 

"We'll  discuss  that  later.  First,  I  want  a  paper 
which  you  possess.  We  won't  beatv  about  the 
bush,  please.  You  know  the  paper  I  mean." 


276  PLUNDER 

"Certainly.     I  shall  not  give  it  to  you." 

"Then  we  shall  be  compelled  to  search  your 
effects." 

She  laughed. 

"You  are  perfectly  welcome.  It  is  not  among 
them." 

"Then  you  will  tell  us  where  it  is*" 

Again  she  laughed. 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  am  certain  of  it.  If  not  now — in  the 
future." 

She  met  his  eye. 

"Mr.  Masterman,  I  will  never  surrender  that 
paper  until  the  work  which  I  have  begun  is  fin- 
ished. You  may  kill  me,  if  you  dare,  but  you 
will  not  get  that  paper." 

Only  a  fool  could  have  doubted  her  sincerity. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  argument. 
Resolute,  unafraid,  defiance  in  every  inch  of  her, 
Kirby  faced  the  master  of  transportation;  and 
the  great  financier  was  a  reader  of  character.  He 
knew  that  it  was  hopeless  to  argue,  futile  to 
threaten.  The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  imprison 
Kirby,  wait  for  Grant  to  make  a  demand,  and 


PLUNDER  277 

then  use  her  as  the  club  whereby  to  swing  him 
into  line.  He  signaled  Greenham. 

Ten  minutes  later  a  burly  man  descended  the 
steps  of  the  side  entrance  to  the  Masterman  man- 
sion, bearing  a  limp  figure  in  his  arms.  He  placed 
his  burden  inside  the  waiting  limousine,  and  spoke 
one  word  to  the  chauffeur: 

"Hurry!" 


XVII 

GRANT  telephoned  the  Masterman  home  in 
the  morning.  Both  Kirby  and  he  had 
agreed  that  telephoning  was  not  the  safest  thing 
in  the  world,  yet,  if  he  asked  for  Miss  Rohan, 
and  their  conversation  was  confined  to  conven- 
tionalities, there  seemed  hardly  any  risk.  He, 
of  course,  would  give  an  assumed  name  if 
requested  to  tell  who  wished  to  speak  with  Miss 
Rohan.  There  might  be  danger,  but,  in  the 
midst  of  the  dangers  which  surrounded  them, 
this  particular  one  seemed  almost  negligible. 

"Miss  Rohan  is  not  here,"  said  the  servant  who 
answered  his  call. 

"Not  there!"  Grant  was  aghast.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

"She  left  last  night  for  Denver,"  was  the 
amazing  reply. 

For  a  moment,  dazed,  Grant  could  say  noth- 
ing. And  when  he  could  it  was  merely  a  feeble 
question. 

278 


PLUNDER  279 

"Are — are  you  sure?" 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  the  servant  icily.  "If  it's 
anything  important  you  may  speak  with  Mr. 
Masterman.  His  instructions  are  that  any  one 
calling  for  Miss  Rohan  shall  be  connected  with 
him  if  desired." 

"Let  me  speak  to  him,"  said  Grant  hoarsely. 

A  moment  later  a  harsh  voice  sounded  in  his 
ears. 

"Well,  who  is  this?  Some  one  asking  for 
Miss  Rohan?" 

"Yes,  a  friend  of  hers.  I'm  told  she  left  for 
Denver  last  night." 

"Are  you  inquiring  for  Miss  Rohan  or  Miss 
Rowland?"  queried  the  financier. 

The  game  was  up!  Grant  choked  back  an 
explanation. 

"Either  one,"  he  stammered. 

A  grim  chuckle  came  along  the  wire. 

"Well,  to  any  friends  of  Miss  Rohan  that  hap- 
pen to  have  known  of  her  presence  in  town,  I 
can  only  say  that  she  received  a  telegram  last 
night,  and  took  the  night  train  for  Chicago  en 
route  for  Denver.  To  any  one  asking  for  Miss 


280  PLUNDER 

Rowland,  I  can  only  say  that  if  that  person  knew 
of  Miss  Rowland's  presence  in  my  home,  he  must 
also  know  of  the  existence  of  a  certain  little 
paper.  Am  I  correct?" 

Grant  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  He  was  tele- 
phoning from  a  drug  store.  His  was  the  only 
booth.  It  would  be  impossible  for  Masterman  to 
work  the  trick  he  had  attempted  when  Kirby 
had  phoned  him — that  of  trying  to  attempt  deten- 
tion of  the  person  talking  with  him.  Drug  stores 
do  not  have  house  detectives  amenable  to  the 
sudden  commands  of  money.  Escape  was  easy 
if  necessary.  And  of  this  last,  now  that  Kirby 
was  known  for  what  and  whom  she  was,  he 
was  not  certain  there  was  necessity.  The  game 
was  up!  Yet  he  temporized. 

"And  if  you  are  correct?    What  then?" 

"Then,  Mr.  Dixon  Grant,"  snapped  Master- 
man, "if  you  care  to  see  Miss  Rowland  again 
you  will  turn  that  paper  over  to  me  at  once." 

"And  supposing  that  I  meet  threat  with 
threat  ?  Unless  I  hear  from  Miss  Rowland  within 
the  hour — she  knows  where  to  reach  me — and 


PLUNDER  281 

learn  that  she  is  not  annoyed  by  you,  I  will  turn 
that  paper  over  to  the  newspapers." 

"Who  wouldn't  print  it,"  jeered  Masterman. 

"Are  you  sure  ?  I  have  noticed  that  one  paper, 
the  Citizen,  seems  glad  to  print  anything  that 
tends  to  show  you  up  for  what  you  really  are! 
Furthermore,  you  seem  to  think  yourself  that 
certain  papers  would  print  it,  else  why  did  you 
grant  universal  transfers?  Let's  not  bluff. 
You've  hidden  Miss  Rowland  away.  You've 
taken  advantage  of  her  assumption  of  Miss 
Rohan's  identity  to  concoct  a  telegram  calling 
her  away  in  order  that  any  one  anxious  to  see 
the  real  Miss  Rohan  would  be  fooled.  And  also 
to  clear  yourself  of  any  charge  of  abduction. 
Very  clever!  Only  it  doesn't  work,  Mr.  Martin 
Masterman!  One  hour!  If  I  don't  hear  from 
Miss  Rowland  by  then  I  turn  that  precious  docu- 
ment over  to  the  papers!" 

"And  if  you  do,  Mr.  Grant,  do  you  know  what 
will  happen?  My  life  will  be  in  danger — in 
fact,  I  am  prepared  to  admit  that  I  do  not  believe 
there  is  a  spot  on  earth  where  I  would  be  safi 


282  PLUNDER 

from  the  people.  I  am  ready  to  take  my  medi- 
cine; but  some  one  else  will  take  it  before  myself. 
As  surely  as  I  speak  to  you  now,  Mr.  Grant,  so 
surely  will  Miss  Kirby  Rowland  go  before  me! 
If  I'm  to  die,  so  does  she — and  first !  Now  then, 
do  you  print  that  paper  or  do  you  give  it  up 
to  me?  I'll  reward  you.  You'll  not  lose  any- 
thing by  abandoning  this  insane  scheme  of  yours 

to  ruin  property.     You'll  be  rich  " 

A  click  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  made  him 
realize  that  he  was  pouring  his  golden  promises 
into  a  lifeless  machine.  For  Grant  had  hung  up 
and  staggered  from  the  booth.  Not  only  was 
the  game  up,  but  Masterman  had  him  on  the 
hip!  There  was  no  doubting  the  sincerity  of 
Masterman's  threat.  Grant  believed  implicitly 
that  the  publication  of  that  paper  meant  the  sign- 
ing of  Kirby's  death  warrant.  His  first  impulse 
had  been  to  promise  Masterman  surrender  of 
that  paper  at  once;  to  tell  him  where  it  was.  That 
he  did  not  yield  to  his  impulse  was  due  to  no 
lack  of  love  for  Kirby,  no  disregard  of  the  dan- 
ger that  menaced  her;  it  was  due  to  common 


PLUNDER  283 

sense;  common  sense  which,  even  in  this  moment 
of  surprise  and  shock,  bade  him  hesitate.  Dimly 
he  could  see  that  there  was  a  weakness  in  Mas- 
terman's  position,  that  the  financier  was  by  no 
means  impregnably  intrenched  in  his  demands. 
But  he  realized  that  until  his  brain  cleared  from 
the  cloud  that  Kirby's  capture  had  caused  he  was 
in  no  position  to  deal  with  Masterman.  One 
thing  alone  was  clear  to  him — while  publication 
of  that  paper  was  withheld  Kirby  was  safe !  Mas- 
terman would  not  dare  harm  her,  knowing  the 
inevitable  result — publication  and  ruin  and 
death!  Masterman  would  wait. 

As  he  walked  up  the  street  his  mind  cleared; 
his  mental  processes  became  lucid  once  more. 
He  sat  down  on  a  bench  in  a  little  park  and 
reviewed  the  situation.  Kirby  had  been  captured ; 
she  had  been  smuggled  away  to  some  hiding- 
place.  Her  trail  had  been  covered  by  the  pre- 
tense of  her  having  received  a  telegram  calling 
her  to  Denver.  To  the  police  Masterman  could 
say  that  he  had  no  idea  that  Miss  Rohan  was  not 
what  she  purported  and  represented  herself  to 


284  PLUNDER 

be — the  eccentric  Western-Parisian  portrait 
painter.  Ostensibly,  Miss  Rohan  had  started  for 
Denver;  in  reality,  she  had  been  taken 

She  was  not  in  the  Masterman  home  that  was 
positive.  Masterman  would  not  dare  keep  her 
there.  So  he  had  had  her  taken  somewhere  else. 
That  was  as  certain  as  the  course  of  the  sun. 
And  so  was  something  else.  Before  abducting 
Kirby,  Masterman  had  tried  to  get  the  paper 
from  her.  No  one  but  a  fool  would  have  failed 
to  demand  the  paper.  Masterman  was  no  fool. 
He  had  demanded  it,  and  he  had  not  got  it!  If 
he  had  he  wouldn't  be  asking  Grant  for  it.  Why 
hadn't  he  got  it?  Because  Kirby  had  refused. 
And  why  had  Kirby  refused  ?  Because  the  game 
wasn't  up! 

It  was  clear  as  crystal.  Kirby  didn't  want  the 
paper  surrendered.  If  she  had — well,  she'd  have 
told  Masterman  where  it  was.  Why  argue  any 
further  than  that?  Moreover,  Kirby  knew  the 
name  of  the  hotel  where  Grant  was  stopping. 
She'd  have  got  him  on  the  phone  and  told  him 
what  had  happened.  But  why  wasn't  the  game 
up?  Because  Kirby  relied  on  him,  Dixon  Grant, 


PLUNDER  285 

to  play  it  through  to  a  winning  finish !  She  relied 
on  his  wit  to  extricate  her  from  her  danger,  and 
then  go  through  with  their  plan  to  the  end  agreed 
upon  by  them. 

And  if  Kirby  wasn't  a  quitter,  if  Kirby  was 
game  enough  to  risk  indignity  and  restraint,  he 
must  do  his  part.  For  the  time  being  Kirby  was 
safe.  While  the  paper  was  unpublished  Master- 
man  faced  a  weapon  as  dreaded  by  him  as  Kirby's 
capture  was  hateful  to  Grant.  The  odds  had 
shifted,  that  was  all.  Instead  of  being  in  favor 
of  Grant  and  Kirby,  they  were  even  now.  It 
was  up  to  Grant  to  rescue  Kirby  and  cause 
another  shifting  of  the  odds  in  Kirby 's  war.  But 
how?  There  must  be  a  way!  Kirby,  by  her 
refusal  to  surrender  the  paper,  showed  her  faith 
in  Grant  to  find  that  way.  It  was  up  to  him  to 
justify  that  faith.  He  slumped  farther  down 
upon  the  bench,  his  brain  clear  now,  and  working 
at  its  utmost  efficiency.  Where  had  they  taken 
Kirby?  How  could  he  rescue  her? 

Half  an  hour  of  concentrated  thought  and  his 
head  was  dizzy  with  the  problem.  It  was  clear 
enough  what  must  be  done.  How  to  do  it  he 


286  PLUNDER 

did  not  yet  see  clearly.  Mechanically  he  reached 
for  a  morning  paper,  discarded  by  some  earlier 
loiterer  in  the  park.  The  sheet  was  open  at  the 
"Want  Ads"  page,  and  the  first  column  of  this 
page  was  devoted  to  personals.  Idly,  hardly  see- 
ing what  he  read,  his  eyes  went  down  the  column. 
It  stopped  and  read  one  advertisment  a  second 
time.  It  was  the  personal  inserted  by  Harry 
Mack  in  every  morning  paper  save  the  Citizen, 
which  had  not  run  his  advertisement  for  the  two 
simple  reasons  that  Hanrahan  had  taken  it  away 
with  him  and  had  not  returned,  and  that  Mack 
had  neglected  to  pay  for  its  insertion.  But  as  in 
the  one  intended  to  be  inserted  in  the  Citizen,  this 
one  gave  the  newspaper  publishing  it  as  the  place 
to  address  Mack. 

There  was  no  question  in  Grant's  mind  as  to 
whom  it  was  addressed.  And  this  was  Thursday. 
At  six  P.  M.,  if  Mack  kept  his  word,  the  game 
would  be  out  of  the  hands  of  the  self-constituted 
battlers  for  the  people.  And  on  publication — it 
would  not  matter  to  Masterman  that  Harry  Mack 
caused  the  publication — Kirby  would  die.  Now, 
indeed,  the  game  was  up!  Mack  could  undoubt- 


PLUNDER  287 

edly  tell  a  story  so  convincing  that  his  inability 
to  produce  the  paper  itself  would  not  greatly 
affect  evidence  in  his  tale.  A  paper  like  the  Citi- 
zen, for  example,  careless  of  libel  suits,  would 
print  greedily  Mack's  story.  And  Mack  would 
give  Kirby's  name  and  his,  Grant's.  He  must 
see  Mack  at  once,  and  try  to  prevent  his  thwarted 
cupidity  from  wrecking  a  plan  destined  to  ameli- 
orate the  conditions  of  the  poor.  The  man's 
conscience  must  be  appealed  to.  Grant  must 

try  Here  Grant  laughed  at  the  idea  of 

Mack  having  a  conscience.  Then  he  remembered 
how  Mack  had  rescued  Kirby  from  the  clutches 
of  the  Masterman  agents. 

Grant  had  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  chivalry  hav- 
ing actuated  that  rescue.  But  did  it  matter  what 
had  actuated  it?  Mack  had  done  it.  For  his 
own  reasons  Mack  had  not  wanted  Kirby  cap- 
tured by  Masterman.  And  then  Grant  laughed 
again  at  his  own  stupidity.  For  as  Masterman 
had  reasoned  so  did  he  at  last.  Mack  had  saved 
Kirby  because  she  held  the  paper  which  he  did 
not  wish  to  pass  into  Masterman's  possession. 
That  was  the  answer  to  that  riddle.  And  if 


288  PLUNDER 

Mack  had  saved  Kirby  once,  would  he  not  try 
it  again?  And  could  not  Mack,  with  his  under- 
world cunning,  be  of  invaluable  assistance  to 
Grant?  Grant  alone  could  hardly  hope  to  res- 
cue Kirby  if  she  were  guarded  properly.  But 
with  Mack  —  he  smiled  at  the  idea  of  forming 
an  alliance  with  the  crook;  but  he  needed  help, 
and  the  shrewd  brain  of  Harry  Mack  could  give 
that  help.  He  entered  a  telegraph  office  and 
swiftly  wrote  a  message. 

"H.  M.  Will  be  in  cafe  of  Hotel  Blank  wait- 
ing for  you.  D.  G." 

He  delivered  the  envelope  to  a  clerk. 

"This  will  go  at  once?  How  soon  will  it  be 
delivered  ?" 

The  clerk  saw  that  it  was  addressed  in  care 
of  the  Despatch. 

"Boy  ought  to  get  down  there  in  the  subway 
in  ten  minutes." 

"Give  him  this  for  speed,"  said  Grant,  and 
passed  a  coin  to  the  clerk.  A  moment  later  a 
boy  dashed  out  of  the  office,  and  Grant  entered 
the  Blank  and  made  his  way  to  the  cafe.  Inside 
of  an  hour  Harry  Mack  entered.  For  he  had  left 


PLUNDER  289 

instructions  with  the  Despatch  business  office  to 
have  any  answers  to  his  advertisement  forwarded 
to  him  by  special  messenger  at  once,  at  a  down- 
town address  he  gave,  and  he  had  wasted  no 
time  on  receiving  Grant's  note.  He  sat  down 
opposite  Grant. 

"Well  ?    Going  to  declare  me  in,  are  you  ?" 

Grant  looked  at  him. 

"Mack,  do  you  really  intend  to  use  this  paper 
as  a  lever  for  blackmail?" 

"If  you  must  be  so  crude  of  expression — yes," 
replied  Mack. 

"And  there's  no  way  in  which  I  can  persuade 
you  to  join  with  Miss  Rowland  and  myself  in 
urging  it  as  a  weapon  to  get  the  people  their 
rightful  dues?" 

Mack  sneered. 

"I  can  get  twenty-five  thousand  from  a  news- 
paper for  what  I  can  tell  them.  Twenty-five 
thousand  is  a  drop  in  the  bucket  compared  to 
what  I  ought  to  get,  but  even  a  drop  is  a  sizable 
drink  to  a  man  dying  of  thirst.  I  don't  even  get 
the  drop  working  with  you  crazy  people.  Of 
course  I'm  going  to  use  that  paper  for  myself. 
But  I'll  divide  the  coin  in  three  pieces — one  for 


290  PLUNDER 

each  of  us.  What's  the  answer?  Do  you  join 
with  me,  or  do  I  grab  what  I  can  from  the 
papers  ?" 

"Why  hurry?"   inquired   Grant 

"Because  you  people  will  gum  the  game," 
snarled  Mack.  "You'll  get  caught  by  the  Mas- 
terman  gang  and  lose  the  paper,  and  then  where' 11 
I  be?  You  people  are  the  kind  that  wouldn't 
back  my  story  up  if  you  didn't  have  the  paper. 
You'd  be  afraid  of  trouble.  You'd  be  afraid  of 
anarchy  and  heaven  knows  what  not,  if  you  cor- 
roborated my  statements.  No,  you  people  aren't 
after  the  coin.  You'd  have  got  it  before  this  if 
you  had  been.  Your  girl  gave  me  an  idea  of 
what  you  wanted.  You  want  to  reform  the 
world.  With  this  paper  in  ytfur  possession  you 
think  Masterman  will  do  as  you  say.  He  ain't 
got  sense  enough  to  see  that  you  people  wouldn't 
publish  the  thing  anyway,  for  fear  of  awful  con- 
sequences to  the  country.  That's  the  way  I  dope 
you  two  anyway,  and  I'll  bet  I'm  right!" 

Grant  met  his  angry  glance. 

"Maybe  you  are  right,  Mack;  but  as  you  say, 
no  paper  is  going  to  pay  you  a  large  sum  for 


PLUNDER  291 

your  story  unless  Miss  Rowland  and  I  corrob- 
orate it." 

"By  your  actions,"  amended  Mack.  "By  the 
fact  that  you  two  are  laying  low  and  hiding  from 
Masterman.  That'll  be  corroboration  enough, 
considering  the  straight  yarn  I  can  spring." 

"But  you're  too  good  a  sport  to  sell  for 
twenty-five  thousand  when  there's  a  chance  for 
millions." 

"Where's  my  chance?" 

"As  long  as  Miss  Rowland  and  I  have  the 
paper  you  think  you  have  a  chance,  eh?" 

"I  know  I've  got  a  chance,"  snarled  Mack. 
"But  you  won't  have  the  paper  long.  Master- 
man's  gang'll  land  you — and  then  I  lose." 

"And  supposing  that  Masterman  had  landed 
Miss  Rowland?  Would  you  try  to  rescue  her, 
thinking  that  later  you  could  get  hold  of  the 
paper?" 

"Mr.  Grant,"  said  Mack,  and  his  voice  was 
menacing,  "let's  drop  the  foolish  talk.  I  won't 
give  my  story  to  any  paper.  Twenty-five  thou- 
sand or  so  won't  buy  that  secret  from  me.  I  want 
a  million.  I  put  that  advertisement  in  to  scare 


292  PLUNDER 

you  people.  I've  done  it.  I  want  to  get  hold  of 
you.  I've  done  it.  Now  you  hand  me  over  that 
paper  or  I'll  finish  you  here  in  this  cafe!" 

"But  I  haven't  the  paper.  It's  locked  away 
in  a  vault,  and  Miss  Rowland  is  the  only  one 
who  can  get  possession  of  it." 

"Then  lead  me  to  her.  I  mean  it,  Grant.  As 
I'm  a  living  man,  you'll  be  a  dead  one  if  you 
don't.  Where  is  she?" 

"Now  we're  getting  down  to  cases,"  said 
Grant,  apparently  unmoved  by  the  threat.  "I 
don't  know  where  she  is." 

"You  what?" 

"And  as  I  don't  care  to  entrust  any  one  else 
with  the  secret  of  this  paper,  I  thought  you'd 
help  me  find  her,"  continued  Grant  calmly. 
"After  we've  found  her  and  rescued  her — well, 
then,  Mr.  Mack,  I'll  listen  to  your  talk  about  gun 
play.  But  I  haven't  the  paper.  I  can't  get  it. 
Miss  Rowland  can.  Do  you  want  to  help  me 
find  her,  with  the  understanding  that  after  she's 
rescued  you  and  I  are  on  opposite  sides  again  ?" 

Mack  removed  his  hand  from  his  pocket.  Not 
until  then  did  Grant  realize  how  absolutely  serious 


PLUNDER  293 

Mack  had  been.  For  the  coat  pocket  sagged,  as 
the  hand  was  removed,  and  the  weapon  inside 
settled  back  into  place.  Mack  was  desperate, 
but  Mack  also  was  the  only  person  Grant  knew 
who  could  help  him  now.  Wars,  even  people's 
wars,  can  make  as  strange  bedfellows  as  politics. 
After  Kirby  was  rescued — but  let  the  future  and 
Dixon  Grant  take  care  of  Kirby.  Kirby  would 
come  to  no  harm  from  Mack;  Grant  would  die 
first.  Moreover,  armed  men  have  been  disarmed 
before  this.  The  risk  was  slight,  thought  Grant, 
compared  to  the  stake  at  issue — the  rescue  of  a 
people. 

"What's  happened?"  demanded  Mack. 

SKviftly  Grant  told  him  of  Kirby's  venture 
into  the  house  of  Masterman,  and  his  own  recent 
telephonic  conversation  with  Masterman. 

"You,  Mack,"  he  finished,  "are  powerless 
while  Miss  Rowland  is  in  Masterman's  hands. 
Though  I  warn  you  that  you'll  not  get  hold  of 
that  paper  while  I'm  able  to  prevent  you,  you 
can  see  that  you  have  absolutely  no  chance  to 
get  hold  of  it  while  Miss  Rowland  is  a  prisoner. 
Will  you  help  me?" 


294  PLUNDER 

"Can  you  drive  a  car?"  demanded  Mack,  with 
seeming  irrelevance. 

"Yes;  why?" 

"Day  before  yesterday  Cardigan  wanted  to 
drug  me  and  take  me  to  his  place  on  Long  Island. 
Masterman  has  country  places  at  Bar  Harbor  and 
Pinehurst.  Too  far!  Blaisdell's  nearest  country 
place  is  in  the  Thousand  Islands.  Now  they 
wouldn't  let  any  more  people  into  the  secret  than 
necessary.  They  wouldn't  send  her  to  some  other 
millionaire's  place.  Too  risky.  Cardigan's  is  the 
nearest  place.  It's  a  cinch  they  wouldn't  keep 
her  in  town,  so  she  must  be  in  the  country,  and 
that  means  Cardigan's  country  place  at  Bellmere. 
You've  heard  of  it?" 

"Seen  photographs  in  the  Sunday  papers,"  said 
Grant. 

"So  have  I.  Well,  that  seems  the  most  likely 
place  to  look  for  her.  Easily  reached  by  auto- 
mobile, no  need  of  taking  her  on  a  train  where 
crew  and  passengers  might  see  something  to 
arouse  suspicion.  And  it's  the  place  Cardigan 
proposed  taking  me!  I'll  bet  she's  there!" 

"Then  let's   start  now,"   said  Grant,   rising. 


PLUNDER  295 

"It  will  take  us  four  hours  to  get  there,  including 
the  time  we  waste  now  getting  started." 

"No  hurry,"  said  Mack.  "We  don't  want  to 
get  there  until  after  dark,  you  know.  Still,  we'll 
want  to  get  down  to  Edgewater,  the  nearest 
village  to  Cardigan's  place,  and  sort  of  scout 
round.  Come  on,  let's  hire  a  car !" 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  an  electric  wire, 
cleverly  concealed  in  the  shrubbery  that  girded 
the  lawns  about  the  Cardigan  country  house,  was 
trod  upon  by  the  foot  of  Harry  Mack.  Within 
the  house  six  Greenham  operatives  prepared  for 
action.  Ten  minutes  later  Handsome  Harry 
Mack  and  Dixon  Grant  were  dragged  into  the 
presence  of  Martin  Masterman.  For  the  master 
of  transportation  was  a  very  shrewd  man.  It  had 
occurred  to  him  that  Grant  might  learn  where 
Kirby  was,  and  that  Cardigan  and  an  aged  care- 
taker might  not  be  sufficient  to  cope  with  an  out- 
raged lover.  And  as  he  wished  to  question  Kirby, 
and  try  to  succeed  where  the  Cardigan  threats 
had  failed,  he  had  come  down  to  Bellmere  him- 
self bringing  the  Greenham  operatives. 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  cap- 


296  PLUNDER 

tives,  who  had  been  surprised  and  overcome 
before  Mack  could  even  place  his  hand  on  the 
automatic  pistol  in  his  coat  pocket. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  master  of  trans- 
portation, "Miss  Rowland  won't  tell  where  that 
paper  is.  One  of  you  gentlemen  will!  No?  I 
don't  want  to  use  force,  gentlemen,  but  I  want 
that  paper!  Cardigan,  bring  in  the  girl!" 

And  Kirby  Rowland,  sick  at  sight  of  brutal 
ringers  crushing  the  throat  of  Dixon  Grant,  told 
the  hiding-place  of  the  paper. 

"In  my  own  vaults,"  said  Masterman,  gasping. 
"Of  all  the  nerve " 

He  never  finished  that  sentence,  for  at  that 
moment  the  front-door  bell  clanged  ominously. 
Bellmere  had  other  visitors  besides  Mack  and 
Grant  that  night;  and  these  later  visitors  came 
not  like  thieves  in  the  night,  but  boldly  and  un- 
afraid. And  they  pounded  on  the  front  door. 

"There's  a  dozen  of  'em,"  gasped  a  Greenham 
operative  who  had  peered  through  a  window.  "A 
dozen,  and  I  just  heard  one  of  'em  orderin'  the 
others  to  fire  their  guns  at  the  lock  to  bust  it  in !" 

Masterman  glared. 


PLUNDER  397 

"Cardigan,  open  the  door  for  them,  and  see 
who  and  what  they  are.  Threaten  them,  with 
the  law.  If  that  doesn't  warn  them  off  advise 
them  that  armed  men  are  here  and  will  resist  any 
forced  entrance." 

But  it  takes  more  than  threats,  more  than  bul- 
lets, to  stop  the  advance  of  United  States  mar- 
shals. They  swept  in  like  a  tide,  and  at  Cardi- 
gan's protest  one  seized  him  by  the  arm  and 
declared  that  he  was  under  arrest. 

"On  what  charge?"  demanded  Cardigan. 

"On  the  charge  of  conspiracy  in  restraint  of 
trade,  and  on  a  warrant  issued  by  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  United  States !  And  we  want  Mas- 
terman!  Where  is  he?" 

They  flooded  into  the  house,  followed  by  two 
men  whom  Cardigan,  fear  clutching  at  his 
throat,  recognized.  So  did  Masterman,  a  moment 
later,  and  he  thanked  the  presence  of  mind  that 
had  made  him  order  Kirby,  Dixon  Grant  and 
Harry  Mack  hidden  away  in  a  room  on  the  top 
floor. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  blustered,  glaring 
at  the  men  he  recognized. 


298  PLUNDER 

But  his  bluster  Woke  down  when  one  of  them, 
ignoring  his  question,  said : 

"In  addition  to  other  charges,  Mr.  Masterman, 
there  will  be  the  one  of  kidnaping,  for  which 
I  guarantee  you  twenty  years  in  jail  unless  you 
immediately  produce  one  Kirby  Rowland,  alleged 
to  be  detained  by  you." 

Masterman  knew  the  game  was  up.  He  looked 
at  a  Greenham  operative.  The  man  sullenly  left 
the  room.  A  moment  later  the  three  prisoners 
were  confronting  their  erstwhile  captors  and 
their  rescuers  in  a  room  where  economic  history 
was  shortly  to  be  made.  For  the  thin-faced  man 
with  the  stern  manner  was  Morley  Ellis,  Attorney- 
General  of  the  United  States  of  America;  and 
behind  him  stood  Lindley  Jackson. 


XVIII 

WHEN  Handsome  Harry  Mack  flicked 
a  pellet  into  the  highball  of  Tom  Hanra- 
han,  he  thought  that  this  little  finger  had  sent 
enough  of  the  deadly  drug  into  Tom  Hanrahan's 
glass  to  render  the  reporter  harmless  for  at  least 
ninety-six  hours.  But  the  international  crook 
reckoned  without  the  newspaperman's  wonder- 
ful constitution.  Hanrahan  had  been  a  football 
star  and  captain  of  his  crew  at  college.  And 
during  the  four  years  that  had  elapsed  since 
graduation  he  had  kept  himself  in  fine  condition. 
Within  twenty-four  hours  after  being  found 
unconscious  on  the  floor  of  the  Tube  Hanrahan 
awoke.  He  found  himself  in  a  small  room, 
whose  white  furnishings  were  proof  of  its  con- 
nection with  a  hospital. 

"Well,  where  the  deuce — how  the  deuce " 

Then  he  knew,  and  despite  a  splitting  headache 

and  a  nausea,  that  enfeebled  him,  he  rolled  out 

299 


300  PLUNDER 

of  bed,  and  staggered  toward  a  half -opened  closet 
wherein  he  could  see  his  clothes  hanging.  Half- 
way to  the  closet  he  collapsed,  and  the  noise  of 
his  fall  brought  in  a  nurse  from  the  hall  outside. 
A  passing  doctor  came  in  answer  to  her  cry,  and 
together  they  managed  to  get  Hanrahan  back  into 
bed.  But  when  the  nurse  put  something  to  his 
lips  Hanrahan  had  recovered  his  senses  again  and 
brushed  it  aside. 

"Get  Jackson — Lindley  Jackson,"  he  gasped. 

"Here,  here,  my  man,  drink  this,"  commanded 
the  doctor.  "You're  mighty  sick!  No  time  to 
talk  now." 

He  put  his  arm  about  Hanrahan' s  shoulders 
and  raised  him  that  he  might  swallow  the  easier. 
But  a  sudden  fury  seemed  to  sweep  over  Hanra- 
han. He  broke  the  doctor's  grip  and  hurled  the 
glass  across  the  room,  where  it  splintered  in  a 
score  of  pieces. 

"I'm  Hanrahan — of  the  Citizen.  Get  Jackson 
*— -Lindley  Jackson!" 

The  doctor  looked  at  the  nurse. 

"Is  this  so?    Did  you  find  any  paper  on  him?" 

The  nurse  shook  her  head. 


PLUNDER  301 

"Just  some  letters  without  their  envelopes. 
Over  ninety  dollars,  so  we  put  him  in  a  private 
room.  His  clothing  was  expensive,  too;  but  no 
identification." 

The  reporter  listened  to  her,  then  spoke  again. 

"Inside  pocket — my  vest — police  card.  Send 
for  Jackson — vital — important — get  him." 

The  nurse  sped  to  the  closet;  she  brought  out 
the  waistcoat,  and  in  that  neglected  pocket  which 
Hanrahan  mentioned  she  found  his  police  identifi- 
cation card. 

"Better  phone  his  employers,"  suggested  the 
doctor.  "Tell  them  the  man  was  found  drugged 
in  the  Tube  last  night,  that  no  one  there  seemed 
to  know  who  he  was.  That  we  have  just  dis- 
covered his  identity,  and  that,  while  he  is  in  no 
danger,  perhaps  some  one  in  the  office  might 
care  to  see  him.  Add  that  the  man  states  that 
he  has  something  of  vital  importance  to  tell  his 
employers." 

Hanrahan  heard  the  instructions,  and  sank 
back  on  his  pillow  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Twenty 
minutes  later  Lindley  Jackson,  who  for  twenty- 
four  hours  had  wondered  about  Hanrahan, 


302  PLUNDER 

greatly  perturbed,  entered  the  sick  room.  The 
doctor  had  told  him  of  Hanrahan's  condition,  had 
stated  that  only  a  man  wonderfully  endowed 
with  physical  and  mental  strength  could  have 
recovered  so  quickly,  and  warned  Jackson  not 
to  excite  his  employee. 

Hanrahan  thrust  out  a  feeble  hand. 

"Got  the  goods,  boss.  Had  most  of  it,  and 
then  met  Harry  Mack — wanted  to  put  personal 
in  paper,  threatening  Kirby  Rowland  and  Dixon 
Grant  with  exposure  unless  they  came  across. 
Mack  got  wise  that  I  was  next  to  his  game. 
Drugged  me.  Guess  they  must  have  a  new  bar- 
keep  in  the  Tube.  All  the  old-timers  know  me." 
He  grinned  feebly.  "Here's  the  dope:  Mack 
found  paper  lost  by  Master  man.  Kirby  Row- 
land, chum  of  girl  I  know,  Jessie  Sigmund — and 
Miss  Sigmund  started  me  on  right  trail — got 
hold  of  paper.  With  Dixon  Grant,  friend  of 
hers,  started  some  game  of  their  own.  Master- 
man's  agents — Greenhams — after  them.  Miss 
Rowland  hides  in  Masterman's  house,  under  name 
of  Adele  Rohan,  the  artist.  Rowland  girl  is 
artist  herself.  Don't  know  about  Grant.  Get 


PLUNDER  303 

the  girl.  She  can  tell  story.  In  Masterman's 
house.  I  know  it.  Don't  ask  me  how — get 
her!  She'll  talk.  You'll  find  some  way.  But 
before  you  get  her" — and  now  he  fought  des- 
perately with  the  drowsiness  that  attacked  him 
— "ask  permission  of  Jessie  Sigmund.  Gave  me 
first  tip.  Must  have  her  permission  to  use  tip. 
Got  to  be  square  or  she  won't — she  won't — marry 
me.  Got  to  be  fair " 

His  voice  died  away.  He  was  not  to  speak 
again  for  fifteen  hours ;  he  was  not  to  be  his  old, 
jovial,  healthy  self  for  a  month.  Jackson  looked 
down  at  him.  His  eyes  softened;  he  patted  the 
unconscious  head. 

"Some  boy!"  he  said.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
doctor.  "The  best  the  hospital  can  afford,  Doc- 
tor," he  said  curtly.  "Send  the  bills  to  me.  Have 
you  a  telephone?" 

Of  course  they  had,  and  Jackson  was  led  to  it. 
He  found  Miss  Sigmund's  number  in  the  book 
and  called  her  up. 

"Miss  Sigmund  ?  .  .  .  This  is  Lindley  Jack- 
son, publisher  of  the  Citizen.  Mr.  Hanrahan,  one 
of  my  men,  has  informed  me  that  before  seeing 


304  PLUNDER 

Miss  Kirby  Rowland  I  must  ask  your  permis- 
sion. .  .  .  Question  of  honor,  I  believe. 
.  .  .  You  gave  him  a  tip  that  has  led  to  her 
discovery.  .  .  .  Why  doesn't  he  ask  you? 
Well,  Miss  Sigmund,  he's  ill — not  seriously,  no. 
.  .  .  Yes,  you  can  come  up  and  see  him — 
Presbyterian  Hospital.  .  •  .  Drugged — all 
right,  in  a  day  or  so,  I  assure  you.  Miss  Sig- 
mund. .  .  .  We  may  act,  then,  upon  what- 
ever tip  you  gave  him.  Thank  you.  .  .  .  No, 
don't  worry;  he's  all  right.  Sleeping  and  in  no 
danger.  .  .  .  And  when  he's  able  to  talk,  Miss 
Sigmund,  kindly  tell  him  that  the  paper  gives  him 
a  month's  vacation,  and  that  he's  to  be  managing 
editor  on  his  return." 

Then,  with  a  last  command  that  Hanrahan  be 
treated  well,  Jackson  dashed  from  the  hospital 
and  into  the  car  that  awaited  him,  giving  his 
chauffeur  the  name  of  a  hotel. 

In  ten  minutes  he  had  sent  up  his  name  to 
Morley  Ellis,  a  guest  at  the  hotel,  and  was  riding 
in  the  elevator  to  Ellis'  room.  The  attorney-gen- 
eral met  him  at  the  door.  They  shook  hands 
warmly. 


PLUNDER  305 

Each  admired  the  other  tremendously,  and  in 
addition  to  admiration  and  liking  there  was  grati- 
tude on  the  side  of  Ellis,  for  Lindley  Jackson's 
money  and  support  had  made  Ellis  district  attor- 
ney of  his  state.  In  that  office  he  had  made  a 
remarkable  record,  and  upon  the  accession  of 
his  party  to  national  power,  Jackson,  who  had 
supported  the  new  administration  with  both 
money  and  brains,  had  forced  upon  a  president 
reluctant  to  appoint  so  pronounced  a  radical,  the 
name  of  Morley  Ellis  as  his  attorney-general. 

Ellis  never  forgot  a  friend.  He  knew  that 
what  he  was  he  owed  in  great  measure  to  Lind- 
ley Jackson.  He  was  his  own  man,  nobody 
owned  him,  but  he  knew  his  debt  and  would  pay 
on  demand,  provided  the  demand  was  in  accord 
with  his  conscience.  And  Lindley  Jackson's 
demand  would  not  offend  the  conscience  of  Ellis ! 
Jackson  got  right  down  to  business. 

"Meant  to  see  you  to-night,  anyway,  Ellis," 
he  said,  "but  didn't  think  it  would  be  on  busi- 
ness. However,  it  is.  You're  over  here  investi- 
gating the  turpentine  crowd,  aren't  you?" 

Ellis  nodded. 


306  PLUNDER 

"Suppose  you've  got  a  pile  of  blank  warrants 
made  out  by  the  Supreme  Court,  eh?" 

"Lots  of  subpoenas  and  a  few  warrants,  yes." 

"Would  you  have  the  nerve  to  arrest  Martin 
Masterman  ?" 

Ellis  smiled  grimly. 

"You  know  me,  Lindley.  Show  me  some  evi- 
dence justifying  his  arrest,  and  I'll  act." 

"Then  you'll  act,"  said  Jackson  grimly. 

Swiftly  he  reviewed  the  events  of  the  past 
twenty-four  hours,  beginning  with  his  invitation 
to  attend  the  conference  at  Master-man's  house 
and  ending  with  the  words  of  Tom  Hanrahan. 

"Of  course,"  he  ended,  "I  learned  of  the  exis- 
tence of  this  remarkable  document  only  in  confi- 
dence. I  would  not  have  thought  to  search  for 
it  except  for  what  Masterman  told  me.  And 
yet,  what  I've  found  out  is  without  betraying  the 
confidence.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  of  any 
newspaperman  that,  learning  of  the  existence  of 
such  a  paper,  he  should  make  no  effort  to  find 
it,  even  though  knowledge  of  its  existence  was 
learned  in  confidence.  Masterman  himself  ad- 
mitted that  the  paper  might  be  brought  to  me.  In 


PLUNDER  307 

that  case  I  saw  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  make 
an  effort  to  have  it  brought  to  me.  At  any  rate, 
right  or  wrong,  I  feel  that  I'm  relieved  of  my 
promise  to  keep  silent.  From  outside  sources  I 
have  learned  what  Masterman  was  so  anxious  to 
keep  secret.  Further,  before  even  exacting  any 
confidences,  he  mentioned  a  force  that  menaced 
something — himself.  I've  tried  to  be  fair  to  him, 
Ellis,  but  the  thing  is  too  big.  So  then,  do  you 
summon  a  bunch  of  marshals,  raid  Masterman's 
house,  get  hold  of  the  Rowland  girl,  force  her — 
if  we  can — to  tell  the  nature  of  this  paper,  arrest 
Masterman — or  not?" 

"You've  given  me  evidence  enough,  Lindley," 
replied  Ellis,  "to  make  me  believe  that  there  is 
a  criminal  conspiracy  behind  this  universal  trans- 
fer business.  And  as  the  Consolidated  Car  Lines 
does  a  business  in  Jersey  City,  and  is,  therefore, 
an  interstate  concern,  it  comes  under  the  control 
of  the  federal  government.  We'll  raid  Master- 
man in  an  hour." 

And  in  just  exactly  that  time  Morley  Ellis  rang 
the  bell  of  the  Masterman  mansion.  Behind  him 
were  a  dozen  United  States  marshals.  It  was  the 


3o8  PLUNDER 

United  States  government  against  the  Master- 
man  money,  and  servants  who  would  have 
scoffed  at  the  police  broke  down  before  the  attor- 
ney-general. In  ten  minutes  Ellis  had  learned 
that  Kirby  Rowland  was  at  Cardigan's  place  at 
Bellmere,  and  that  Masterman  had  gone  down 
there  an  hour  earlier.  The  servants  who  had 
aided  in  the  laying  of  the  false  trail  to  cover 
Kirby's  whereabouts,  who  had  witnessed  bribe 
money  time  and  again,  dared  not  lie  to  a  member 
of  the  cabinet.  And  four  hours  later  the  attorney- 
general,  Jackson,  Cardigan,  Masterman,  Mack, 
Grant  and  Kirby  Rowland,  with  a  dozen  or  more 
marshals  and  detectives  to  act  as  supernumera- 
ries, staged  the  final  act  of  the  drama  that  had 
begun  when  the  hand  of  Handsome  Harry  Mack 
seized  the  paper  that  had  blown  from  Master- 
man's  office. 


XIX 

ROWLAND»"  said  t*16  attorney- 
general,  "am  I  right  in  presuming  that 
you  have  in  your  possession  a  paper  signed  by 
Martin  Masterman?" 

The  old  gray  wolf  of  finance  was  not  dead  yet. 
He  showed  his  teeth. 

"I  have  it  in  my  vaults,"  he  snarled.  "This 
woman  just  confessed  to  me  that  she  had  placed 
it  there.  You  can't  get  it!" 

"No?"  Ellis  smiled  his  thin-lipped,  frosty 
smile.  "I  have  yet  to  learn  of  the  vault  that  will 
refuse  to  open  for  the  United  States  govern- 
ment! Miss  Rowland,  will  you  kindly  tell  us 
the  nature  of  that  document?" 

Again  Masterman  spoke. 

"There  are  a  million  dollars,  Miss  Rowland, 

to  be  distributed  between  you  and  Grant  and  Mack 

if  you  refuse  to  answer  that  question.    No,  Ellis, 

don't  threaten  me!    You  think  you  can  jail  me. 

309 


3io  PLUNDER 

For  what?  For  kidnaping?  But  I  think  the 
young  lady  will  listen  to  reason,  a  million  dollars' 
worth  of  reason,  and  will  refuse  to  press  that 
charge.  For  conspiracy  in  restraint  of  trade? 
Prove  it!  My  lawyers  will  fight  for  twenty 
years!  Miss  Rowland,  refuse  to  answer  him." 

"And,  Miss  Rowland,  the  alternative  is  jail  for 
contempt  of  court,"  said  Ellis.  "We  have  evi- 
dence that  you  know  of  a  paper,  have  a  paper, 
that  would  convict  Martin  Masterman  and  others 
of  agreeing  to  sell  Consolidated  'short'  in  ad- 
vance of  granting  universal  transfers.  A  conspi- 
racy! Am  I  correct?" 

"You  are  not,"  said  Kirby.  And  while  Jack- 
son and  Ellis  gasped,  Masterman  smiled.  But 
only  for  a  moment,  for  Kirby  went  on:  "Clear 
the  room,  Mr.  Ellis,  of  your  detectives,  and  then 
I  will  tell  you " 

Mack  broke  his  silence. 

"You'll  tell  him?  So  help  me,  if  you  do, 
I'll " 

Grant,  recovered  from  the  throttling  to  which 
he  had  been  subjected  in  the  effort  to  make  Kirby 
confess  to  Masterman,  wheeled  upon  the  crook. 


PLUNDER  311 

"You'll  do  nothing,  Mack,"  he  said  softly, 
"nothing !  You've  bragged  about  being  willing  to 
go  to  the  chair  for  either  of  us.  You'll  never 
see  the  chair.  One  threat  against  Miss  Rowland, 
and  I'll  save  the  state  expense — with  my  own 
hands!'* 

Mack  stared  into  eyes  as  coldly  angry  as  his 
own  were  hotly  venomous,  and  gone  were  his 
dreams  of  great  wealth.  Opportunity  had 
knocked,  but  she  had  not  paused.  He  sank  down 
into  a  chair,  and  was  a  mere  spectator  and  auditor 
of  what  followed.  He  held  a  part  no  longer. 

Cardigan's  voice  broke  the  pause  that  followed 
this  by-play. 

"Make  it  more  money,  Martin!" 

Kirby  stilled  him. 

"Don't  waste  your  breath,"  she  counseled. 
Then  she  looked  at  her  lover.  "Will  you  tell 
Dick,  or  shall  I?" 

He  nodded. 

"Go  ahead,  Kirby." 

She  turned  to  the  attorney-general;  her  voice 
was  calm,  almost  unexpressive. 

"Mr.    Masterman,    Mr.    Cardigan    and    Mr. 


312  PLUNDER 

Blaisdell  signed  a  paper.  In  some  way  that  paper 
got  into  the  hands  of  Harry  Mack  there,"  and 
she  pointed  at  the  slumped  figure  of  the  interna- 
tional crook.  "Mack  placed  it,  for  some  reason 
or  other — probably  because  he  was  in  danger  of 
arrest — in  the  pocket  of  Mr.  Grant.  Mr.  Grant 
showed  it  to  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that  with 
that  paper  Mr.  Grant  and  I  could  reconstruct  the 
country.  We  began  by  demanding  Mr.  Master- 
man  to  grant  universal  transfers  in  this  city. 
We  had  made  further  demands — that  he  and  his 
associates  reduce  railroad  fares,  the  price  of  coal 
and  food,  and  that  they  increase  wages.  We 
thought  that  in  this  manner  the  great  corpora- 
tions would  be  unable  to  meet  expenses  and  that 
the  government  would  be  compelled  to  step  in  and 
take  charge.  Which  was  what  we  wanted — all 
utilities,  all  wealth,  to  be  owned  by  the  people. 
Then  Mr.  Masterman  captured  me,  and  by  hurt- 
ing Mr.  Grant,  forced  me  to  confess  that  I  had 
hidden  this  paper  in  his  vaults,  under  the  name 
of  Margaret  Blake."  She  paused. 

"But  the  contents  of  the  paper?"  demanded 
Ellis  and  Jackson  almost  in  the  same  breath. 


PLUNDER  313 

The  girl  walked  to  the  door  and  opened  it; 
the  detectives  and  marshals  had  left  the  room 
and  were  not  in  the  hall.  She  returned.  "It 
would  not  do  for  others  to  know  the  contents 
of  this  paper,"  she  said.  "Too  many  know  it 
now.  Gentlemen,  it  was  an  agreement  whereby 
Masterman,  Cardigan  and  Blaisdell  agreed  to  act 
in  concert  with  certain  bankers.  They  were  to 
cease  the  mining  of  coal,  cease  the  production  of 
food,  cease  the  manufacture  of  all  raw  materials, 
call  all  loans  issued  by  banks  to  all  merchants, 
reduce  all  transportation  facilities  to  an  absolute 
minimum !  In  short,  they  were  to  tie  up,  not  only 
business,  but  the  function  of  eating— of  living, 
practically.  That  was  the  paper !" 

Ellis  gasped. 

"But  the  reason,  Masterman,  the  reason?" 

"To  make  money,  more  money.  What  better 
reason  could  we  have?"  said  Masterman.  "To 
make  all  the  money  possible  to  be  made.  To  get 
the  money  of  this  country  into  the  hands  of  the 
men  who've  made  this  country!  If  I  could  have 
trusted  Cardigan  and  Blaisdell  not  to  betray  me 
by  selling  stocks  short But  you  can't  trust 


3i4  PLUNDER 

anybody  in  this  world  but  yourself."  He  glared 
at  Ellis  and  at  Jackson.  "Arrest  me!  Publish 
the  story!  And  then  what  will  the  people  say 
when  they  learn  that  half  a  dozen  men  could  have 
done  what  I  and  my  associates  proposed  doing?" 

Never  so  tremendous,  so  virile,  so  scornful  of 
mere  humans  had  Masterman  been,  as  in  this  the 
hour  of  his  defeat.  Ellis  stepped  back  from  him, 
staring  incredulously  at  the  man  whose  ruthless 
motives  had  at  last  been  disclosed.  He  spoke 
softly,  incredulously. 

"So  this  was  your  plan,  Masterman  ?" 

He  drew  a  paper  from  his  pocket.  "This, 
Masterman,  is  a  warrant  for  your  arrest."  He 
tore  the  paper  into  several  pieces,  then  rose  from 
the  chair  into  which  he  had  dropped. 

"Miss  Rowland,  may  we  attend  you  back  to 
town?" 

Masterman's  jaw  dropped;  Jackson  stared;  the 
others  stood  rigid  in  amazement. 

"Good  lord,  Ellis,  are  you  mad?"  gasped  Jack- 
son. "Aren't  you  going  to  arrest  Masterman?" 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  thin-faced  radical  who 
was  attorney-general  took  on  a  filmy  look. 


PLUNDER  315 

Prophets  scorned  have  worn  that  look,  a  look 
of  communion  with  something  beyond,  something 
greater  than  this  world  holds. 

"Arrest  him  ?  Jackson,  it's  too  big !  With  that 
paper  I  could  do  anything.  I  could  do  as  this 
enthusiastic  but  misguided  young  lady  hoped  to 
do.  I  could  break  the  power  of  money,  force 
government  ownership,  could  create  a  Utopia. 
But  I  won't! 

"Why?  Because  a  Utopia  created  by  force 
could  not  last!  The  people  are  not  ready  for  it. 
When  they  are  it  will  exist  already.  But  the 
time  has  not  yet  come !  Only  what  God  puts  into 
the  hearts  and  minds  of  men  may  last  for  long! 
Men  do  not  want  Utopia!  If  they  wanted  it 
they  would  have  it.  By  struggle  man  shall 
achieve,  not  by  gift !  That  is  and  has  been  God's 
law!  And  a  Utopia  created  but  to  fail — as  it 
inevitably  would  to-day — would  postpone  the 
coming  of  the  real  Utopia  a  thousand  years. 
When  men  are  ready  for  a  world  for  which  the 
Golden  Rule  shall  be  sufficient  government,  that 
world  will  be  theirs.  It  can  not  be  forced  upon 
them  ahead  of  God's  destined  time! 


3i6  PLUNDER 

"Arrest  Masterman  and  let  the  world  know? 
Masterman  is  right!  The  people,  with  definite 
proof  of  the  puppets  they  have  always  been, 
would  tear  down  in  a  day  a  nation  it  has  taken 
a  century  to  build !  I  will  not  see  it  torn  down ! 
Come!" 

"But  you  can  make  yourself  president,"  cried 
Jackson.  "I  get  your  point;  almost  I  agree 
with  you ;  I  do  agree  with  you !  But  the  power, 
man,  the  power!  You  can  win  all  your  cases 
against  the  trusts !  You  can  make  a  record  such 
as  no  prosecuting  officer  has  ever  made!  The 
White  House — Ellis,  are  you  mad?  Don't  pub- 
lish the  paper,  but  keep  it  to  force  Masterman, 
not  to  establish  government  ownership  or  the 
Utopia  you  talk  about,  but  to  yield  to  the  laws 
already  established!  You  will  win  your 
cases " 

But  Morley  Ellis  shook  his  head. 

"While  that  paper  exists  the  nation  is  not  safe ! 
I  want  it  destroyed.  Some  one  would  find  it 
some  day.  In  whatever  place  I  put  it  it  would 
be  found!  The  White  House?  Man  dear,  that's 


PLUNDER  317 

why  I  want  it  destroyed!  I  am  ambitious.  If 
the  paper  were  in  my  possession  God  knows  to 
what  ambition  would  lead  me.  I  might  use  this 
paper  to  force  the  moneyed  interests  to  support 
me.  I  dare  not  use  it  legitimately;  I  will  not  use 
it  illegitimately!  If  I  can  not  enforce  the  present 
laws  against  the  trusts  with  the  means  provided 
my  office,  then  I  am  a  failure,  and  failures  do 
not  belong  in  the  White  House!" 

He  looked  at  Masterman. 

"In  your  own  heart,  Masterman,  you  are  con- 
victed of  being  a  traitor  to  your  country.  You 
have  been  false  to  their  kind,  and  you  know  it. 
No  words  of  mine  can  add  to  that  knowledge. 
Come!" 

He  turned  again  to  Jackson  and  Kirby,  who 
stood  with  Grant,  staring  at  a  man  whom  sud- 
denly they  knew  to  be  worthy  of  standing  beside 
the  greatest  the  nation  had  produced. 

But  Masterman  stopped  them  with  an  up- 
raised hand. 

"Ellis,  I  thought  all  men  were  like  myself;  that 
all  craved  power,  and  merely  pretended  love  for 


218  PLUNDER 

"Who  you  orderin'  round?"  demanded  the  de- 
tective truculently. 

"You,"  said  Hanrahan.  "If  you  aren't  on  your 
way  in  just  two  seconds,  I'm  going  to  hand  you 
something  that  won't  taste  a  bit  nice.  Further- 
more, I'm  coming  back  here  later,  and  if  I  find 
you  here  I'll  clean  house  with  you.  For  your 
information  and  edification  I'll  inform  you  that 
when  it  comes  to  licking  cheap  detectives  I  am 
the  one  and  only,  blown-in-the-bottle,  original 
White  Hope.  Your  two  seconds  are  up.  Are 
you  going?" 

"Well,  I  like  your  nerve!"  began  the  detective. 
He  didn't  speak  again  for  a  moment,  for  Hanra- 
han's  fist  colliding  with  his  mouth  cut  short  his 
words.  The  reporter  bent  over  the  prostrate  de- 
tective. 

"Are  you  going?" 

"I'll  have  you  pinched,"  mumbled  the  man. 

"And  I'll  get  you  thirty  days  for  annoying  a 
lady!  Are  you  going?" 

The  law  is  even  less  kind  to  annoyers  of  wom- 
en than  Tom  Hanrahan  had  shown  himself.  Also 
it  had  been  impressed  upon  the  Greenham  opera- 


PLUNDER  219 

lives  that  secrecy  was  essential  in  this  present 
mysterious  case.  The  man  shambled  off,  nursing 
a  bleeding  jaw. 

"I'll  get  you !"  he  mumbled.  "I'll  get  you  yet !" 
"So  will  the  goblins,  if  I  don't  watch  out," 
laughed  Hanrahan.  He  watched  the  man  out  of 
sight,  then  continued  toward  the  Greenwich 
Studios.  He  felt  much  better.  Be  he  ever  so 
civilized,  there  is  nothing  so  gratifying  to  a  man 
as  the  discovery  that  he  still  "packs  a  punch." 
Humanity  is  very  human,  after  all. 


32o  PLUNDER 

"Miss  Rowland,  to-day  my  daughter  wept 
because  you  had  gone  away.  I  understand  that 
you  are  an  artist.  Could  you  not  come  to  my 
house?  You  are  a  miniature  painter,  eh?  I 
would  like  one  of  my  little  girl.  Miss  Rohan 
will  paint  the  portrait  that  shall  hang  in  my  study, 
but  you  will  paint  the  likeness  that  I  shall  always 
carry  with  me.  Will — will  you  come?  It  is  not 
Martin  Masterman  who  asks  you;  not  the  man 
you  believe  to  be  responsible  for  the  poverty  of 
millions — a  poverty  he  will  try  to  remedy,  my 
dear,  if  you  do  not  ask  too  much — but  it  is  the 
father  of  a  little  girl  named  Laurel,  who  loves 
you,  and  is  unhappy  because  her  new  friend  has 
gone  away. 

"You  think  I  am  a  bad  old  man.  Maybe  I  am, 
my  dear,  maybe  I  am  not.  At  the  moment  it 
looks  as  though  I  were,  and  that  my  whole  life 
has  been  wrongly  employed.  But  I  have  only 
done  what  others  before  me,  countless  others, 
have  done  in  lesser  degrees — gained  power  and 
forgotten  the  weak.  And  even  if  I  am  guilty  of 
evil,  surely  my  little  daughter  is  not  to  blame  for 


PLUNDER  321 

my  sins,  sins  which  shall  be  balanced  by  good 
because  Martin  Masterman  can  play  the  game!" 
He  lifted  his  shaggy  old  head.  "You  had  me 
down,  Ellis!  You  let  me  up!  I  was  beaten  and 
spared.  I  do  not  strike  the  hand  that  spared 
me!"  He  turned  once  more  to  Kirby.  "Will 
you  come  to  Laurel,  not  to  me?" 

Kirby's  hand  stole  out  and  gripped  the  fingers 
of  Dick. 

"If — if  my  husband" — and  she  blushed — "will 
let  me,  I'll  come  to  both." 

Next  day  Martin  Masterman  announced  the 
gift  of  ten  million  dollars  to  found  recreation 
parks  for  the  children  of  the  city.  The  papers 
which  announced  this  v  munificent  gift  also  an- 
nounced Morley  Ellis'  great  victories  over  the 
trusts.  The  Citizen  was  the  only  paper  which 
did  not  express  surprise  over  the  failure  of  the 
trusts  to  fight  the  government  suits;  but  the  Citi- 
zen gave  no  reason  for  its  lack  of  surprise.  Even 
Lindley  Jackson,  most  violent  radical,  had  yielded 
to  the  argument  of  Ellis.  'And  he  saw,  as  Ellis 
saw,  that  the  time  was  not  ripe  for  a  people's 


322  PLUNDER 

war;  and  when  it  should  be  ripe;  there  need  be 
no  war.  For  what  belonged  to  the  people  would 
by  that  time  have  been  given  to  them. 

Time  can  not  be  advanced.     God  does  not 
hurry. 


THE  END 


University  of  California 
SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  95138* 

5  ws  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 
ptnm  this  material  to  the  r.braryjrorn  which  it  was  borrowed, 


IVM 

3 


A     000  1 24  023     3 


